The Peaceable Four
by PlushChrome
Summary: As the Monkees travel across the country towards Connecticut, they become involved in a gang war, causing the trip to become a series of misadventures. Good thing they have experience in dealing with crazy, out-of-control situations. Hey, they're the Monkees. They can handle anything that comes their way. They hope. Rated T to be safe.
1. Broken Mirror's Time's Out

_Author's notes: I wasn't planning on posting this story until next month at least, but on a sudden fit of inspiration, I planned the whole thing out and wrote chapter 1. This story is based off a line of Crystal Rose of Pollux's story, Manchester Jones and the Golden Curse, in which Peter promises to show the group around Connecticut if they ever get down there. I consider this story to be part of a series of sorts, which include Crystal Rose of Pollux's stories, __Manchester Jones and the Golden Curse__, __Red Sky: Take Warning__, and __Lone Star And Union Jack__. Also included is my story, __The California Dreamer and the Connecticut Yankee__. This story was written with Crystal Rose of Pollux's permission._

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Monkees, but all OC's are mine EXCEPT for the ticket master in this first chapter, who belongs to Crystal Rose of Pollux._

_This story takes place about a year after the final season of the Monkees, which would make Davy 21, Micky 22, and Peter and Mike 25 by Crystal Rose of Pollux's stories._

* * *

"Mail's here!" Micky called, banging the front door open as he walked in. "Let's see, bill, bill, bill..." He counted out the bills as he handed them to Mike, who took them with a sigh.

"Oh, hey, Peter," Micky said, looking at the last envelope. "You've got a letter!" "Really?" Peter asked from the table, where he was playing a game of checkers with Davy. "Who's it from?"

Micky looked at the return address. "It doesn't say." He looked at the stamp and gasped. "Peter!" He exclaimed. "What, what is it?" Peter asked worriedly. Micky smiled. "It's from Connecticut!" He said.

Peter let out a deep breath. "Oh," he said. "You scared me there, Micky."

He looked back at the checker game as the other three watched him. Then the news sunk in.

"Connecticut!?" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "It must be from back home!" He ran over to Micky and grabbed the envelope. Mike set the bills down and walked over to stand behind Peter as he opened the letter, and Davy and Micky joined him.

As soon as he got it open, Peter read it aloud. "Love, mom," he said, smiling. "Wait a minute, wait a minute..." Davy said. "What do you mean, 'Love, mom?' Shouldn't that be at the end of the letter?" Peter shrugged. "She always puts that bit first, so I know who the letter's from."

"Well, why doesn't she just write her name on the return address?" Davy asked. Peter frowned. "You know, I don't know," he said. Davy nodded. "Right," he said. "Go on." Peter turned back to his letter.

"I just wrote you this letter because I missed you today. I'm still not quite used to having you gone, even though it's been nearly seven years."

"Seven years!?" Mike interrupted. "Has it really been that long?" Peter frowned. "You know, I think it has!" He said. "Let's see, I left when I was 17, I spent about 9 months on the road, and then I met Micky. We lived in Ventura for around two years, and then we moved here and met you guys. How long would you say we've lived here?"

Mike thought. "I'd say the two of you have lived here for around four years," he said, frowning. "So she's right, you've been gone for seven years." He looked at Peter. "Go on," he said. Peter went on.

"So I decided to write you this letter, after I cooked your favorite dinner, spaghetti with meat chunks." "Meat chunks?" Micky interrupted. "Yeah," Peter said. "She said it was easier than meatballs." Then he turned back to the letter.

"It doesn't taste the same without you here to enjoy it. I would send you some, but it would probably go bad in the mail." "Boy, I'm glad she thought of that," Micky muttered.

"How is life in Malibu?" Peter continued to read. "Are you having a good time? How's the band doing? Does Davy..." Peter trailed off and glanced sheepishly at Davy.

"What?" The younger man said. "Does Davy what?"

Mike looked over Peter's shoulder and gave a half smile. "Does Davy still snore?" He read aloud. Davy looked at Peter. "I do not snore!" He exclaimed. Peter shifted his weight. "How would you know," he said defensively. "You're always- you're always asleep!" Mike laughed as Davy blinked, unable to make an argument.

"Does he really snore?" Micky asked. Peter shifted his weight again. "Only sometimes," he admitted. "Not as much as you used to, Micky." "What!?" Micky asked, his eyes widening. "I used to snore!?" "Still do," Mike deadpanned. "Almost every other night."

Micky was at a loss for words, while Davy had finally come up with a counter argument.

"Well, snoring's nothing, you talk in your sleep!" He said to Peter. Peter blushed and went back to his letter.

"Does Davy still... oh wait..." He skipped over that part. "Have you played lots of gigs? Do you eat regularly? I expect an answer to each of these questions in a week. No lying, and no one-word answers. I want each question answered in detail."

"Huh, a little pushy..." Micky muttered. Peter shot him a glare and then continued reading.

"Life here in Connecticut is going well, although it's still pretty hot. The calendar says we just went into Autumn, but it still feels like summer to me. I can't wait for fall to really get started, I love fall. I love the colors of the leaves, I love the brisk wind, and I love apple pie. In fact, I have one in the oven right now. Maybe if I start pretending it's fall, I'll confuse the weather, and the seasons will change faster."

Micky glanced at Mike, who returned the glance. That had sounded like something Peter would say.

"With Marissa in preschool now, the house is too quiet," Peter read. "It reminds me of when you went to preschool. Do you remember?" He smiled as he read that, and then he turned to the others. "I _do_ remember that day," he said. "Mom told me not to talk to strangers, and I didn't realize that didn't include the teacher. She thought I was mute until parent-teacher day. She taught me sign-language and everything."

"Oh, Peter..." Davy said, shaking his head. "I have a question," Mike said. "Who is this Marissa?"

Peter smiled. "Oh, she's my baby sister," he said. "Although, I guess she's not much of a baby anymore, now that she's in preschool." The other three looked at him. After a moment, Mike cleared his throat.

"Peter," he said. "You, um... You have a sister?" Peter smiled and nodded. Mike looked up and took a deep breath. "Okay, um..." He said. "I have a few questions for you, Pete." "Sure Mike, go ahead!" Peter said.

"First off," Mike said. "Why didn't you tell us you had a sister?" Peter shrugged. "I told Micky," he said. Mike turned to Micky. "You knew about Marissa?" He asked. Micky nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Peter told me about her a few years ago, but he never told me how old she was!"

Mike nodded. "Right," he said, turning back to Peter. "How old is this sister?" Peter thought. "Let's see," he said. "I think she just turned four." Micky and Davy stared. "Oh, okay, four," Mike said calmly. "And how long has it been since you were in Connecticut?"

Peter frowned in confusion. "Almost seven years," he said. "Didn't we already say that?" Mike nodded. "Yep, we said it," he said. "So you have a baby sister who's four years old, and you haven't been to Connecticut in seven years. So I take it you haven't ever met her?"

Peter blinked. "Now that you mention it, I haven't," he said. "I should ask mom to send me a picture." "I've got a better idea!" Mike said, putting his arm around Peter. "I think it's high time you visited your family!"

Peter's face lit up. "Really?" He asked. "You mean, we're going to Connecticut?" Mike smiled. "Yep," he said. "I mean, we've already been to Texas, and then we went on that crazy trip to Manchester, and we drove down to Ventura for Christmas last year. Besides, you promised to show us around Connecticut one day. So, let's do it!"

"Yeah, but can we afford a trip down to Connecticut?" Peter asked. "It's all the way across the country!" "Well, Manchester's all the way across the pond," Davy pointed out. "Yeah, and Ventura's halfway across the state!" Micky said. "Haha," Peter deadpanned at Micky. "Davy, we got paid to go to England."

"Well, it doesn't matter," Mike said. "It's been too long since you saw your family, and you haven't even met Marissa! We're going to Connecticut!"

Peter smiled. "Wow, thanks," he said. "I can't wait to write mom! She's going to be so excited!" Taking his letter with him, Peter went into the room he shared with Davy. As the door shut behind him, Mike turned to Micky and Davy.

"Can you believe that?" He said. "Seven years!" "Well, really, that's not so hard to believe," Davy said. "It had been four and a half years for me before we went to England for that one gig." Mike sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right," He said. "But you didn't have a sister at home that you'd never met before!"

Micky sat down on the couch. "I still can't believe that she's only four!" He said. "I always just assumed she was around Jenna's age."

"Well, there's only one thing we can do now," Mike said. "What's that?" Asked Micky. "We've got to figure out how we're going to get to Connecticut," Mike said. "We can't go by plane, it's too expensive." "We could drive," Micky suggested. Mike shook his head. "It would take too long," he said. "Five days at the least. That's ten days round trip, add to that a proper visit, maybe about a week long, and we've already been gone two and a half weeks. Driving's out of the question."

"Alright, then how do you suggest we get there?" Davy asked. Mike thought. "We could take a train," he said. Micky and Davy looked at each other. "Alright," Davy said. "Let's take a train."

* * *

To say Peter was excited as they boarded the train would be an understatement. He had been excited for a week as he packed and unpacked and packed everything up all again, while Mike made all the necessary arrangements.

Peter had been the first to wake up the morning of the trip, and he had been so eager to get going that he was even more clumsy than usual, which resulted in him knocking over his glass of orange juice, tripping on his way down the stairs and falling the rest of the way, and now as they walked through the station towards their train, he ran into three passerby, tripped over two suitcases, and knocked over a rack of travel brochures.

The rack fell down on top of a man, who stumbled forward and pushed into a luggage cart, which zoomed across the station, people jumping out of its way as it crashed into a pile of stacked suitcases. The suitcase tumbled to the floor as Mike, Davy and Micky all rushed Peter behind a nearby wall so nobody would look around and see who had done it.

"Man, Peter, be more careful!" Mike admonished him. "I'm sorry, Mike," Peter said, still smiling. "I'm just so excited, I can't think straight!"

"Great, that's all we need," Micky said with a frown. "He barely thinks straight as it is!"

"Oh, lay off him, would'ja?" Davy said irritably. "You weren't much better on that road trip trip to Ventura!"

"Guys, stop picking at each other!" Mike said. "You'd think we were all a bunch of school kids, bickering and arguing up a storm."

Micky and Davy immediately looked guilty and apologized to each other as Mike peered around the corner.

"I think we're safe," he said. "Nobody's looking, and the security guards seem too busy to notice us."

They began to step out from behind the wall when Mike paused. "You know what, Pete?" He said. "Maybe you should walk in front where I can keep an eye on you."

Peter sheepishly moved to the front, and after a glance from Mike, Davy and Micky moved wordlessly to walk alongside him. In that way, they managed to make it to the ticket counter with no further mishaps.

"Excuse us, mister," Mike said to the ticket master inside, who was reading a letter or a note or something.

"Just give me a second," the ticket master said without glancing up at him. "I'm a bit busy right now, so you'll have to wait." With a start, Mike recognized him as the man from the bus depot, who had tried to con Davy the day he'd gotten here from England, before Mike had stepped in and set him straight.

He glanced at Davy, who also seemed to recognize the man, as he was staring at him with his mouth wide open.

Mike turned back to the ticket master. "Boy, you sure haven't moved up much in the world since the last time I saw you."

That got his attention. The ticket master looked up and frowned in confusion.

"What'cha mean?" He asked suspiciously. Mike smirked. "What, you don't remember me?" He said. "How about my friend over here, do you recognize him?" He pointed to Davy, and the ticket master frowned at him for a moment before turning back to Mike.

"Look, son," he said. "I don't know what your game is. But if you're not here to buy a train ticket, than I suggest you and Shorty here turn around and walk away, before I call security on you."

"Now, you don't wanna go and do a thing like that," Mike said. "Cause I think I've got something figured out here. Now, why would a man want to stay tied down to a job as a ticket master? It don't pay well, and a man's got to keep food on the table. Here's what I think: I think you're running a bit of a side business out of this ticket booth."

The ticket master gave a startled look around to make sure no one had heard. "Shh, kid, what are you doing?" He hissed. "You trying to blow my cover? Keep your voice down!"

"Still wanna call security?" Mike said grimly. The ticket master glared. "Fine," he said, putting down the letter. "What is it you want?"

"Four tickets, heading East," Mike said. "Cheapest we can get."

"The cheapest?" The ticket master said, one eyebrow raised. "Listen, sonny, I got the cheapest tickets in the world, I've got a sale. You pay half the fee, I'll take on the rest, and you just gotta do me a favor while you ride East. Whatcha think?"

Mike opened his mouth to say no, he wanted the full-price for the cheapest tickets, but the man spoke up before he could say anything.

"Wait wait wait," he said, "I can see that you're a smart kid. Not easily scammed. You know, you do look a bit familiar, now that I think about it. So let me explain a bit before you go making your decisions. I'm in a bit of trouble, you see. You weren't far off, about me being tied down to a ticket master, but it's not the way you think."

The ticket master looked around. "Yeah, I used to scam people," he said. "But I ain't like that anymore. This, right here," he pointed his thumb at himself proudly. "This is a new man. I got a different job, I work for the Good Guys now."

"What do you mean, the good guys?" Peter asked, not really sure how Mike and Davy knew the man, but still trying to follow along.

"I mean, someone caught me bein' crooked," he said. "Took me downtown, introduced me to somebody who cut me a deal. Told me about a gang who's been using ticket booths to get information out to the wrong kinds of people. Said if I help him round up this gang, he wouldn't send me to jail. "Of course, I took him up on that offer. I know a good deal when I see one."

He leaned in just a bit closer. "But today, I'm being watched," he said. "My contact can't come and get the information he needs to shut down the gang. They'd recognize him, they've been tailing him. But you... You're four new faces. I've got another contact on the train, all I need you to do is deliver a letter to him, and your part is over. I can talk to the boss, he'll make sure your fees are paid once I tell him about your half-off tickets. It's nothing illegal, all we're doing is splitting the cost up a bit. Now, what'd'ya say?"

Mike still wasn't sure he trusted the man. People could change, he believed that whole-heartedly. But he still couldn't get it out of his mind, fourteen year old Davy being swindled out of money practically for turning around.

"Sorry," he said. "You'll have to get somebody else to deliver your letter. We don't particularly like being spies."

"Shh!" The man said again, then he sighed. "Fine," he said. "I can get you four tickets East for forty dollars. Should get you as far as Abilene, Texas. That's the cheapest full price I can get you."

"Deal," Mike said, purchasing the tickets. Then, handing one to each of the Monkees, he turned to walk away. Davy and Micky followed, and Peter was about to when he tripped over his shoelace, which had come untied. He bent down and tied it quickly, but as he was about to join the others, the ticket man stopped him.

"Hey, kid," he said. Peter looked at him. "Me?" He asked. "Yeah, you," the man said. "Here, how about you take a travel brochure with you?" Peter smiled. "Thanks," he said. "But we're not stopping in Abilene. We're going to catch another train East until we reach Connecticut."

"Oh, this isn't a brochure for Abilene," The ticket master said. "It's for here, it's for Malibu."

Peter frowned. "Why would I want a travel brochure for Malibu?" He asked. "I live here."

"Well, the train ride is going to last for a long time," the ticket master said. "You might as well have something to read while you wait. Besides, there's lots of nice pictures to look at."

"Okay," Peter said, taking the brochure. "I guess I could take it. Thanks!"

"Peter, come on, we're gonna miss the train," Micky called, walking back towards him. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Oh, well, my shoe was untied, so I stopped to tie it, and then he offered me a travel brochure, but I said-" "Never mind," Micky interrupted. "Let's just get going."

As the two Monkees ran off into the crowd and boarded the train, the ticket master watched them for a moment before he turned to the telephone and placed a call.

"Hello, it's Agent Pink Rock," he said into it. "I need you to get a message to Agent Storm Cloud. The information is hidden in a Malibu travel brochure, it's being sent to you by way of a clumsy blonde named Peter. He's got three friends, a short one, a poufy-haired one, and one in a green hat. Be careful, they don't know I sent it with them. The one with the hat is especially tricky."

He paused as the person on the other end talked. "Oh, don't worry about that," He said finally. "I know for a fact that Agent Cupcake is on the train to Abilene. He'll be able to figure it out, as long as you get him a message that his contact is changed. Oh, hey, I've got to go."

He hung up the phone and turned to the man waiting on the other end. "Hello, what can I get for ya?" the ticket master asked. "One thing," said the man, pulling out a gun and training it on the ticket master, who raised his hands with a scowl. "I want the information you had on our gang. Who did you send it with?"


	2. Monkee Business

Micky yawned, they had been on the train for about an hour, and he was bored. "I'm gonna go exploring," he said finally. Mike looked up at him. "You realize we're on a train?" He asked. Micky nodded. "That doesn't mean there's nothing interesting to see," He said.

"Alright," Mike said. "Just be careful. We don't want to get thrown out because you pulled an emergency stop cord or disconnected half of the cars or something."

"Mike, have a bit of faith in me!" Micky said dramatically. "I'll be back later." He smiled confidently at Mike, who nodded knowingly and turned to the window. Taking that to be a "Go do whatever you want and have some exciting fun," Micky turned and began to walk down the car.

Leaving their compartment, he walked on for some time, stopping and talking to the types of people who seemed talkative or interesting, poking into corners or holes that seemed fun, and asking questions about the train itself, how it worked, how fast it could go, how long it had taken to lay the rails, anything that popped into his head. Of course, there weren't many people on board who knew the answer to any of these questions, but that didn't stop him from asking.

After awhile, he realized that something seemed very off about the car he was in. He looked around, it didn't look very different from the other cars. There were the same types of seats, the same kind of windows, the same kind of passengers, why, there was even a guy standing in the back, wearing a trench coat and a fedora, just like in all the other cars.

Waitaminute. That was what seemed wrong. There wasn't a guy in a trench coat and a fedora in every car. It was the same guy. Why would the same guy happen to switch cars exactly when Micky switched cars, managing to get in the same car as him and stay there until Micky went to a new car, unless it was done on purpose?

So, assuming that he was being followed for some reason, Micky decided to test this out, maybe he was just being paranoid.

Leaving the car and stepping into the next one, he rushed over to a nearby seat and grabbed a scarf and a pair of sunglasses from a lady sitting there. "Hey, can I borrow this? Thanks!" He said, darting away before she could protest.

Tying the scarf around his head like a bonnet and placing the sunglasses on his face, he grabbed a fur jacket from an empty seat and hurriedly shrugged it on over his shirt, sitting down as he did so.

He noticed a purse on the ground in front of the seat. Reaching over, he picked it up and placed it on his lap. Seeing a fan inside the open bag, he grabbed it, opened it, and began fanning himself. He turned his head so that it looked like he was watching the scenery outside the window, but behind the sunglasses, he watched the door.

Sure enough, the man in the trench coat stepped through and began skimming the crowd with his eyes. He blinked after a second, and began looking around again. Now seeming worried, he hurried through the car and into the next one. Micky waited for about five minutes, and was about to get up and follow when the man came back in, looking around again, as if he was looking for something.

He began to walk through the compartment, and as he passed, Micky jumped up on a whim, determined to find out what this guy wanted with him.

"Excuse me, sir?" He said in a high-pitched, cheery voice, throwing a southern twang in his voice for good measure. "Can I help you with somethin'? You look as if you don't rightly know where ya are."

The man looked at him in annoyance, but then seemed to change his mind about something.

"Actually, yeah, you can help me," he said. "I'm looking for a friend of mine, I know he went down this way, but I can't find him. He's wearing an orange shirt, and he's got real poufy hair, like a poodle's. Have you seen him?"

"Nope, haven't seen anyone like that," Micky said, smiling, although he was panicking on the inside. He'd been right, this guy was following him. "Can I take a message, maybe I'll run into this guy, I can tell him you're looking for him."

"No!" The guy said worriedly. Then he chuckled nervously. "I mean, uh," he said. "Naw, don't worry about it. I wanna surprise him."

"Oh, of course!" Micky said. "I understand. It's a secret!" "Yeah, that's it," The guy agreed. "A secret." He smiled and held up a finger to his lips, saying "Shh." Micky giggled a high-pitched giggle and hit him with his fan. "Oh, you're so silly!" He said as the guy blinked, surprised at the amount of force Micky put into his hit.

"Oh, clumsy me!" Micky said. "It's this train, it makes me lose my balance something awful!"

He giggled a few more times and then he lurched, knocking the guy over and then taking off towards the car that the others were in.

"Guys! Guys!" He whispered loudly as he stopped in front of the seats. The three Monkees all looked up at him, Davy was smirking, Mike looked slightly amused and slightly curious, and Peter looked baffled.

"Somebody's following us," he said. "Or, me, really. He's about 5 and a half feet tall and he's wearing a trench coat and a fedora and I realized he was following me so what should we do?"

"Calm down, for starters," Mike said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And maybe you should tell us why you're dressed like a chick?"

"Huh?" Micky asked, and then he realized he was still wearing the scarf and the jacket, and he was holding a purse in one hand and a fan in the other, and he had ladies sunglasses on.

"I needed a quick disguise," he said, taking it all off and wrapping the fan, purse, glasses and scarf up in the jacket like a parcel. "So I could test if the guy was really following me."

"Now, why would somebody be following you?" Mike asked him. "What did you do this time?"

"What!?" Micky asked defensively. "I didn't do anything, I swear! I was just walking around, minding my own business, and I saw a guy wearing a trench coat and a fedora, standing in the back of the car, watching me!"

"A trench coat and a fedora, you said?" Peter asked. Micky nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Why?"

"Cause that guy who just came into this car is wearing a trench coat and a fedora," Peter said. "And he's staring at us, too."

"What!?" Micky turned to see that the guy was indeed standing in the back of the car, staring at the four musicians.

"What are we gonna do?" He asked, turning back to the others. Mike frowned at the guy in the fedora. "Well..." he said slowly. "It would appear you are telling the truth. Off hand, I'd say that what we need is getaway plan 213. On your marks, men. Steady... and... go!"

With that, the Monkees all stood up and darted off down the aisle, Mike and Peter heading past the man, who was too startled to do more than let out a small yelp of surprise, and Micky and Davy running the other way. Both pairs left the compartment and began executing their parts of the plan.

Mike and Peter, upon reaching the second compartment, quickly sat down in the first two empty seats. Mike took off his wool hat, pulled a pair of novelty Groucho Marx glasses out of his pocket and put them on, sufficiently disguising his face, as Peter put on a night-cap and a sleep mask, hiding his face and hair, then pulled a complimentary blanket up to his chin and started snoring.

Meanwhile, Davy and Micky, in the other compartment, got into their positions. Micky cupped his hands together to give Davy a boost, and the smaller man crawled into the overhead compartment. When he was up, Micky unwrapped his bundle and put his disguise back on, finishing right as the guy in the fedora stepped into the compartment.

"Oh, it's you again," he said when he saw Micky. "Hey, you didn't happen to see two guys run by here, the poufy haired one I mentioned earlier, and a really short kid with long hair?"

"Uh, no, nobody like that ran through here," Micky said in his high-pitched voice. "Maybe they went the other way."

"Yeah, maybe," The guy said, taking a quick look around before turning and going back into the other car.

"Is he gone?" Davy asked from the overhead compartment.

"Yeah, but you'd better stay up there for a while," he said. "Mike and Peter'll send him on a wild goose chase and come get us when they're done."

* * *

As the guy in the fedora stepped into the compartment, Mike stood up and walked up to him. "Hey, are you Harry?" He asked in a nasally voice. The guy blinked. "What?" He said. "No, I'm not Harry."

"Then don't shave," Mike said dryly. "Now listen, I've got a message from somebody, and I was told to deliver it to the guy named Harry in a trench coat and a fedora. It's from two guys that ran by here, a guy in a green wool hat and a blonde guy following him. Do you know those two?"

"I- Yes, yes, I do!" The guy said excitedly. "Where'd they go?"

"Why should I tell you," Mike said. "You ain't Harry."

"What? I mean, yes! Yeah, I'm Harry!" The man said eagerly.

"You sure?" Mike asked. The guy nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm Harry! I swear, I'm Harry!"

"That's funny, you look pretty clean-shaven to me," Mike said. "But, here's the message. They told me to tell you they ran the other way. Why they'd lie is beyond me, but that's the message. They want you to look for them in the car you just left."

"Well, why would I do that?" The guy asked defensively. "It's obvious they aren't there."

"Obvious, huh?" Mike asked. "Good to know. Obvious is my specialty. Now get goin' before they switch trains."

"Hey, thanks!" The guy said before running down the corridor. Mike watched him, and turned away as soon as he was gone. "Okay, Peter," he said. "Let's go get Micky and Davy!"

"Got it," Peter said, standing up and letting the blanket fall to the ground. "But Mike," he said. "How could we possibly switch trains? There aren't any stops scheduled for another hour, and we're moving too fast to get off now!"

Mike sighed. "That's the point," he explained. "We sent him on a wild goose chase. He's going to search every car from here to the last car so he can stop us from switching trains, and we're gonna be in the room he just left, the place we obviously couldn't be."

"Oh," Peter said, frowning still. Mike shook his head and the two of them headed through the other car and into the next.

* * *

Once the four Monkees were gathered together and out of their disguises, they discussed what the guy might've been after.

"Why do you think he was following us?" Micky asked, glancing nervously at the door in case the guy came back.

"I really have no clue," Mike said. "But something tells me it's got something to do with that ticket master back there. He said he had a contact on this train, maybe that was it."

"But that still doesn't explain why he was after _us_," Davy pointed out. "You told him we weren't going to play spy. That should've been the end of it."

"Yeah, it should have been," Mike agreed. "But it's not the first time that guy has tried to play us for the fool. You don't suppose he managed to sneak some top-secret information in our luggage, do you?"

"Oh no," Micky said. The others all looked at him. "What?" Mike asked warily.

"He gave Peter a travel brochure," Micky said. "When Peter didn't follow us to the train and I went back to get him, he said the ticket master gave him a travel brochure."

Mike turned to Peter. "Do you have it with you?" He asked him. Peter nodded, pulling it out of his pocket. "I haven't read it yet," he said, handing it to Mike. "Do you think he hid something in the brochure?" He asked.

Mike opened it. "Oh boy, did he," he said, pulling an envelope out of the folds of the pamphlet. "It feels heavy," he said, weighing the envelope in his hand. "There's definitely several pages of information here."

"What should we do with it?" Peter asked. Mike sighed. "Well," he said, carefully tucking the envelope into his jacket pocket. "I guess the only thing we can do is try to deliver it to the right person as fast as we can, so we can wash our hands of this whole spy business. But let me tell you, when we get back to LA, I'm gonna have something to say to that ticket master."

"Never mind that," Micky said. "How are we supposed to find the contact? We don't even know what he looks like!"

"Plus, he might've been the guy in the trench coat and the fedora," Mike said. "But then again, he might not be. The guy in the fedora might be a member of that gang the ticket master was talking about."

"Well, how can we tell for sure?" Peter asked. "We don't even know his code-name!"

"Look, there's a note in the brochure!" Davy said, taking the open brochure from Mike. "It says: Boys, find the man with the blue glasses, code-named Agent Cupcake."

Micky snickered. "Mick, this is no laughing matter," Mike said patiently. "I know," Micky said. "But imagine being called Agent Cupcake."

"Well, what's wrong with that," Peter said. "Cupcakes are good."

"Yeah, but as a code-name?" Micky said. "It's much too sweet and sugary."

"Well, we know two things," Davy said. "Yeah?" Mike asked. "And what's that?"

"Well, we know that the guy in the trench coat and the fedora isn't Agent Cupcake, because he didn't have blue glasses."

"Okay, and what's the other thing?" Micky prompted.

"We know that the thug pointing his gun at us isn't Agent Cupcake either," Davy said, pointing as a man walked towards them. The other three Monkees turned and saw that he was, indeed, holding a gun, and he wasn't wearing blue glasses.

"Oh boy," Mike said quietly. "We've done it again."


	3. To Avoid Running Directly Into Spies

"Mike, they're gonna torture us!" Davy cried as the thug with the gun tied the two boys back to back, fastened to a beam in the middle of the baggage car.

It hadn't taken much to sneak the four of them into the employees only area, the thug had simply grabbed hold of Davy's arm and stuck the gun in his side, telling the others to follow him quietly or "Shorty" got it good.

"Calm down, Davy, maybe there's been a mistake," Mike said calmly, trying not to display some of the worry he himself was feeling.

"Yeah," Micky said sarcastically from his spot by the other beam, where he and Peter were also tied back to back. "They just kidnapped us at gun point and tied us all up because they thought we were someone else. As soon as they figure out who we are, they'll let us go."

"Really?" Peter asked from behind him. "That sure would've been good to know five minutes ago. You should have said something earlier."

"Oh, come on, Pete, I was being sarcastic," Micky explained irritably, rolling his eyes.

Peter sighed. "And how do you know I wasn't?" He asked. Micky blinked, he didn't have an answer to that.

The thug finished tying Mike and Davy up and stood back, still pointing his gun at them.

"You know, you're not much of a talker, are you?" Mike asked him. "You got a name, big guy? Or should I just call you Big Guy? Would you mind telling us just what it is you're after? Why'd you kidnap us?"

"Yeah, what'd we do to you?" Micky added. "It's okay, Mick, let me handle this," Mike said, turning his head from the man, who was standing in front of the door, to Micky, who's beam was behind theirs.

"All of you, shut it," The man said. "I'm waiting for my boss to get here, he'll tell you all you need to know."

"Oh, okay, that makes sense," Davy said. "We must be pretty important, Mike, they're sending us up the corporate ladder."

"I don't think that's a good thing, Davy," Mike said, testing the strength of the ropes tying his wrists to Davy's. Yeah, they were strong, and knotted pretty tightly.

"You'll never break out of my knots," the thug said, noticing his attempt. "The knots are my handle. No one ever breaks out of Knotty Dean's knots."

"Knotty Dean?" Micky said. "What kinda gang name is that? It makes it sound like you're crazy or something!"

Knotty Dean narrowed his eyes, and Davy gulped. "But it's still a good name," he said. "Micky, tell him it's still a good name!"

"Oh, yeah, definitely!" Micky said with a nervous chuckle as Knotty Dean took a step towards him. "Knotty Dean, _Knotty Dean," _(Changing his voice to sound gravelly) "Sounds terrifying, really!"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes, Knotty, back off him, would'ja?" came a voice from the door, and the Monkees all turned to see a man in a pinstripe suit enter the room, flanked by two goons. "We got bigger problems than a kid who don't like your name," he said, walking in and snapping his fingers. One of the goons shut the door.

"What kinda problems, Boss?" Knotty said. The boss smirked. "Got a government agent on the train," he said. Knotty gasped. "No," he said in disbelief. The boss nodded. "Right now, he's wandering the halls, looking for these kids. Make sure he never finds 'em, got it?"

The Monkees gasped. "You mean you're gonna kill us!?" Micky cried out. The boss laughed. "Course not," he said. "Not as long as you cooperate. No, we're gonna kill the agent." He turned to Knotty. "You can't miss him, he's the only passenger on the train wearing a trench coat and a fedora."

"Wait a second," Peter said as Knotty left the baggage car. "I thought the agent was supposed to be wearing blue glasses."

"Peter, don't tell him that!" Micky hissed, but the boss just chuckled. "Wrong Agent," he said. "The agent we're looking for is wearing a trench coat and a fedora. By the sound of your description, you're looking for Agent Cupcake."

Mike looked at the boss warily. "...And do you know where we can get ahold of Agent Cupcake?"

"Not a clue," the boss said. "Do I look like a Good Guy to you?"

"To be perfectly honest with you, not a bit," Mike said. "Now, lemme see if I got this straight: There's two agents on this train?"

"Correct," the boss said. "But not really."

Mike looked at him. "Okay, I'm confused," he said. The boss laughed.

"Maybe I should start at the beginning," he said. "Since you boys obviously have no idea what you got yourselves mixed up in."

"Boy, you got that right," Davy muttered.

"My name is Jerome Jerome," the boss said. "But round here, I'm known as Jumping-Jack Jerry."

"Jumping-Jack Jerry!?" Micky started, but was hushed by a stern glance from Mike and Davy, and a pull on the wrist from Peter.

"That's right," said Jumping-Jack Jerry. "I'm the boss of this branch of the notorious gang, the Black Rose Gang."

"The Black Rose Gang!?" Davy cried out. "Oh no! Not the Black Rose Gang! Mike, we've been captured by the Black Rose Gang!"

"Yeah, so I heard," Mike said. "What is the Black Rose Gang?" All the Monkees (including Davy) looked at Jerry curiously, as none of them had ever heard of this gang before.

"Well, we're a fairly new organization," he said. "Just got started around five years ago. We've been trying to expand our territory. We're quickly becoming quite the national nuisance."

"I see," Mike said. "Continue."

"Well," said Jerry. "I'm only a local boss, I answer to the big man himself, Mr. Thorn."

"Mr. Thorn?" Davy asked curiously. "Who's he?"

"I don't know, I've never seen him," said Jerry. "I don't even know his real name. But he's my boss, and what the boss says goes. So when he says to pack up my bags and move to Michigan, I go. And when he says to catch a plane to Santa Barbara, I do. And when he says to catch a train from Malibu to Abilene and intercept an important delivery to another gang, I do."

"Another gang!?" Davy said indignantly. "What'd'you mean, another gang? We don't work for any gang!"

"Oh, save it," Jerry said. "You all but confessed when you said you were looking for Agent Cupcake of the Good Guys Gang."

"The Good Guys Gang!?" The Monkees exclaimed together.

"Yeah," Jerry said. "The Good Guys Gang. Started up about the same time we did, we've been rivals the entire time. They're headed by the devious Mr. Best, and he's been trying to expand his territory."

"Oh, so when he said he'd joined "the good guys," he meant- yes, I get it now," Mike said quietly. Then he addressed Jerry.

"So let me get this straight," He said again. "There are two gangs, the Black Rose Gang and the Good Guys Gang, and you both are trying to become top gang in America. Am I right so far?"

"Yes," Jerry said.

"Okay," Mike continued. "And you believe that we know the location of a packet of information on the Black Rose Gang, possessed by a member of the Good Guys Gang, who is planning to use it to destroy your gang?"

"Correct," Jerry agreed.

"So you kidnapped us so we would tell you the location of this information, by orders of Mr. Thorn, your boss?"

"Right," Jerry said, smiling. "So now we get to my favorite part. You tell me where the information is, or else."

"Or else what, exactly?" Micky asked nervously.

"Or else they don't call me Jumping-Jack Jerry for nothin'," Jerry said with a smile.

The Monkees all looked at each other, confused. That threat hadn't sounded anything like a threat. Still, they didn't exactly want to have him explain himself.

"Alright then, you leave us no choice," Mike said. "I'll tell you where the information is."

The others all looked at him worriedly, except for Davy, who craned his neck but couldn't quite manage it.

"Alright, we've got a smart one here," Jerry said. "Where is it, Sonny?"

"It's hidden in a secret place on the train," Mike said. "Only someone who already knows where it is would ever be able to find it."

"Well, what do you suppose we do, then?" Jerry asked. Mike sighed dramatically. "You'll have to let us go," he said. "You can send Knotty with us or something, and we'll go to the secret spot and get the information. We'll send the information back with Knotty and we'll be on our way. We didn't want to get mixed up in this gang war, anyway."

"While I like most of your plan," Jerry said, "I can't have all four of you going after the information together. You might run off and give it to the police or something. So how about we make a compromise: I set two of you free, with one of my boys here to keep an eye on you, of course, and you go to this secret place to get the information. You send it back with my boy, I'll let the other two go. They join you, you have a happy reunion, you all go riding off into the sunset. Deal?"

Mike appeared to think for a second. "Deal," he said finally.

"Good!" Jerry said. "Tony! Bruce! Pick a hostage."

The two goons each stepped forward, one of them pointed at Davy, who cringed, and the other pointed at Peter, who let out a small groan.

"Alright then," Jerry said, pulling out a small knife. Walking over to them, he cut the ropes tying Mike and Davy's wrists together and then he moved to do the same to Micky and Peter.

"Tony, Bruce," Jerry said again. "Stay here and watch your hostages. I'm going with these two clowns. If they come back without me, kill the lot of them. And if I come back and find that you let your hostage escape, I'll kill the both of you. Got it?"

"Yes, boss," the two goons said, training their guns on Davy and Peter.

"Right then," Jerry said. "Shall we get going?"

With a final glance at Davy and Peter, Mike followed Jerry out of the baggage compartment, Micky trailing behind him.

They walked in silence through the train, Mike leading the way, trying to act as though he knew where he was going.

There was no secret hiding spot on the train, there never had been. He had the information tucked away in his jacket pocket the whole time, he just hadn't told Jerry that because if there was anything he knew about gang bosses, they were liars. If he'd given Jerry the information, Jerry could very well have killed the four of them right then.

Mike needed to think of a way to get Davy and Peter out of the baggage car, deliver the information to the police, and avoid the two gangs for the rest of the trip to Abilene, which would last at least another three hours.

This was going to be difficult.

Maybe he could try to get the information to the government agent who was on board. Except, he was still searching the train for them, and Knotty was after him.

Boy, they'd sure screwed things up for that agent. If he had just explained himself, though, then they would have been more than happy to give him the information right away.

"Hey, look Mike, we're passing New Gallifrey," Micky said, nudging Mike and pointing to the window. Mike glanced at the window and smiled. Aunt Kate would have a conniption if she knew how close they were.

"How much farther is it?" Jerry asked impatiently from behind him. "We're getting pretty close to the front of the train. There's only around four cars in front of us now."

"Don't worry, we're getting there," Mike said, stepping into another car.

As soon as the three of them were inside and the door closed, everyone in the room stood up and pointed guns at them.

"Freeze!" One of them said, and Mike could tell by his blue glasses that they had finally found Agent Cupcake.

"Frozen!" He exclaimed, putting his hands up. Behind him, Micky also had his hands up, and he was saying "Frozen! Frozen! I'm so frozen, I'm an icicle! Please don't shoot!"

"Jumping-Jack Jerry," Agent Cupcake said. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Last I heard, you were being sent to handle the riff-raff in Santa Barbara, 'cause Mr. Thorn didn't like how you handled the jewel heist in Michigan. What are you doing on an interception? Trying to regain Thorn's favor?"

Jerry smiled and slowly lifted his hands. "Shut it, Cupcake," he said calmly. "You don't know anything about Michigan. I had a lousy informant. How was I supposed to know they were wise on me, and planted fake jewels?"

He looked around at all the Agents with their guns pointed at him. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting you, either," he continued. "Boy, you brought along a small army. Nice to see you, Agent Pepper Spray. Agent Red Gloves. Agent Watermelon. Although, I must admit, I don't recognize these other new Agents you've got here."

He turned to three new Agents, who were looking at all of them curiously.

"Oh, haven't you been introduced?" Agent Cupcake said. "These are three temporary recruits, helping us out with... well, never mind. May I introduce you to Agent Bow Tie, Agent Ginger, and Agent Red Cross."

"Agent Red Cross?" Jerry asked in surprise. "What is he, some kinda doctor or somethin'?"

"Actually, I'm a nurse," The Agent spoke up. Mike perked his ears. The guy had a British accent.

"Ha!" Jerry laughed. "You pickin' up nurses now, Cupcake?" He said. "I knew the Good Guys picked up strays, but seriously. One of these days, your motley crew of misfits is gonna get you all killed. Or worse, imprisoned."

Agent Cupcake laughed. "Didn't you get the memo, Jerry? The Good Guys always win. Now, why don't you just come over here, nice and slow, and let Agents Watermelon and Pepper Spray decide what to do with you. I'm gonna step out into the other car and have a word with these two fine young gentlemen you picked up."

With that, Agent Cupcake put away his gun, and led Mike and Micky out of the car, leaving Jerry with the other Agents.

"Don't worry," he said as soon as the door shut behind them. "I know about everything, the travel brochure, the government agent... My stupid subordinate sent me a message, telling me all about how he fed you some cock-and-bull story that he was really working for the CIA, and that he sent the information along with you without your knowledge. Now, where's the blonde named Peter? Agent Storm Cloud said Pink Rock had sent it with him."

Mike cleared his throat. Here was a chance to solve two of the three problems. "Well, two of Jerry's goons are holding them hostage in the baggage car," he said. "But Peter doesn't have the information any more. We hid it in a secret place on the train. If you help us get Peter and our other friend out of trouble, and guarantee the rest of our trip'll be gang free, I'll tell you where I hid the information."

Agent Cupcake nodded. "Deal," he said. "I'll tell all of my Agents to leave you alone, and we've got this train so packed with members that the Black Rose Gang isn't much of a threat at the moment. Especially headed by that no good Jumping-Jack Jerry. I really don't know why Thorn sent him on so important a mission."

"There's one more thing," Mike said, pushing his luck. "Jerry sent a third goon out to kill the government agent, a goon by the name Knotty Dean. That agent is totally harmless, Can you maybe cut him some slack?"

Agent Cupcake smiled. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Knotty Dean already caught up with him, and that agent isn't as harmless as you'd think."

"Really?" Micky asked. "Boy, I guess it's a good thing he didn't want to hurt us after all."

"But what about your gang?" Mike asked. "What if one of your goons decide he's dangerous?"

"Oh, every member of the Good Guys Gang makes a solemn promise not to kill. It's all about the theatrics. Watch."

He pulled his gun out and pointed it at Micky, who yelped on instinct. He shot, and to Micky's surprise and annoyance, a stream of water shot out and squirted him in the face.

"Wow," he said, wiping the water off his face with his sleeve. "And here I thought you were dangerous."

"How are you supposed to be the top gang in America if you don't kill?" Mike asked, more out of bewilderment than anything else. Agent Cupcake laughed.

"Like I said, theatrics," he said. "We've got spies everywhere, we've got cops, delivery boys, bartenders... Every time they get close to being discovered, we schedule a shoot out, with lots of smoke and sound effects and everything. They "die," and then get relocated to a new city. We give them new names and everything, and they start over. One guy's died four times already. Mr. Best is getting a little frustrated with him, he's so careless."

"I see," Mike said. "So you're called the Good Guys because you don't murder anyone?"

"That's right," Agent Cupcake said. "We only lie, steal, blackmail, evade our taxes, and we run a mean extortion racket on the side."

"Oh, is that all?" Micky said sarcastically. Agent Cupcake gave him an amused glance. "We don't have any qualms about non-fatal injuries, however," he said.

"Like I said," Micky chuckled nervously. "Is that all?" He changed the inflection of his voice to sound more approving and less sarcastic. "I don't know why the police would be after you guys, you're practically saints!"

Agent Cupcake laughed. "That's more like it," he said. "Now then, let's go get your friends."

* * *

Peter and Davy had been having a time of it themselves. As soon as Jerry had left with Mike and Micky, Tony and Bruce began arguing over which of the two of them was a better goon.

Eventually, they had asked for Davy and Peter's opinion, and the two Monkees had managed to convince the rather dimwitted gangsters to put down the guns, untie them, and now they were seated comfortably, judging a contest between the two.

They would have left, but on that point the two goons were determined. Their hostages were not to leave the baggage car.

"I wonder what Mike's going to do when Jerry finds out he lied about the secret place," Peter said quietly while Tony and Bruce had their "Mean-Talk" portion of the competition, which was pretty much the two of them trash talking each other.

"I don't know, but it had better be a good one," Davy responded. "Although I'm actually pretty curious as to why they call him Jumping-Jack Jerry."

"You don't suppose it's as simple as him making you do jumping jacks?" Peter asked. Davy shook his head. "I doubt it," he said. "That wouldn't be very torturous at all."

"Hey, let's ask Tony and Bruce," Peter suggested.

"No, let's not," Davy said, glancing at the two goons, who had apparently gone too far in their insults, as they were now wrestling on the ground, ordering each other to "Take it back" or else.

"Don't you want to know?" Peter asked. "Course I do," Davy responded. "But this is hilarious."

Suddenly, the door crashed open and several people in suits and holding guns came storming into the room. Tony and Bruce both stood up quickly, startled out of their wrestling match.

Davy and Peter also put their hands up as a man wearing blue glasses came into the room, followed by Mike and Micky.

"Agent Cupcake!" Davy and Peter said together. The man smiled and took a bow.

"At your service," he said. Then he turned to Bruce and Tony. "Get these two goons outta here," he said to his Agents.

As Tony and Bruce were being led away, they stopped in front of Davy and Peter. "Who won?" Bruce asked. Davy and Peter looked at each other. "Agent Cupcake," they decided.

"Well, boys," Agent Cupcake said, turning to Mike after Tony and Bruce were gone. "I held up my end of the deal."

Davy glanced at Mike, who looked a little nervous. Not that anyone else would have seen that. But Davy had known the Texan for so long, he could practically read him like a book.

"Right," Mike said. "The information."

Agent Cupcake smiled. "I might be a Good Guy," he said. "But now that we've gone and rescued your two friends, I wouldn't be very happy if you double crossed me now. Where's the information?"


	4. The Muskogee Monkees

The Monkees stepped off of the bus and looked around at the town of Muskogee, which was a fairly large city.

Oh, wait, you aren't that far yet. Let me rewind and start over.

Agent Cupcake smiled. "I might be a Good Guy," he said. "But now that we've gone and rescued your two friends, I wouldn't be very happy if you double crossed me now. Where's the information?"

"Now see, the thing is, I don't know where the information is," Mike said. "And I'm sorry to double cross you, I'm sorry to double cross anybody, but I wouldn't tell you where it was even if I did know. Information like that belongs to the police. And you can't kill us for it, because you're a Good Guy, you took an oath not to kill anybody."

"You're right, I did," Agent Cupcake said with a smile. "But like I said, I have no qualms with beating you up, and I know you know where the information is. But you're totally right about the whole giving it to the police bit. What did you think I was gonna do with that information? Eat it?"

Mike hesitated. "You were gonna give it to the police?" He said. Agent Cupcake smiled. "You betcha," He said. "Along with Jerome Jerome and his three goons, Reginald Dean, Tony Riker and Bruce Crusher."

"Now, Crusher sounds like a proper gang name," Micky said.

"It's not an alias," Agent Cupcake said. "That's his actual surname. And all of this information is recorded on those papers you have in your pocket, Wool-Hat. That's all it is. Names, dates, and pictures of every member of the Black Rose Gang in California. My job is to get it from you to the California Police. Don't make me take it by force."

So Mike handed the information over to Agent Cupcake, and he and the rest of the Monkees enjoyed the rest of the train ride to Abilene, but once they got there, they decided they'd had enough of train gangs for awhile and decided to take the bus up to Muskogee, and keep going East from there.

The Monkees stepped off the bus and looked around at the town of Muskogee, which was a fairly large city.

"Aright," Mike said, pulling all of his luggage out of the luggage compartment of the bus. "Micky, call a cab. Actually, make that two cabs. We're gonna split up. I'll take Davy and go to the train station. We'll take all the luggage with us, and I'll get us four tickets East. Peter, you and Micky find a grocery store and pick up some lunch for the four of us, and meet us at the train station. Does everybody understand?"

The others nodded, and once they were all settled into their two cabs, they took off.

* * *

Mike and Davy dragged all the luggage into the train station and piled it up against a wall. "You stay here and guard our stuff," Mike told Davy. "I'll go get the tickets."

"Right," Davy said, and Mike moved off.

He walked up to the ticket master and rapped on the window. "Four tickets East, please," he said.

The ticket master, an old man in his late fifties, early sixties, looked up at him and stumbled back in surprise. "No," he said. "Not you again! I don't have any money, I swear!"

"What!?" Mike said, completely baffled. The ticket master leaned out of the window. "HELP!" he yelled. "HELP! POLICE! HEEEELP!"

"Hey, man, what are you doing!?" Mike said, backing up a bit and looking around. Security guards were running towards him angrily.

"Showing your face in public now, huh?" One of the guards said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and clapping them around Mike's wrists.

"Now, wait a minute!" Mike said desperately. "What's going on here!? I'm just trying to buy tickets!"

"Ha, like I'd believe that!" The ticket master said triumphantly. "He just walked right up to me, officer!"

"Good job, Larry," the guard said. "You did a good thing for the law!"

"What's going on here!?" Davy demanded, pushing his way into the small crowd. "What are you arresting him for!?"

"We're arresting him for armed robbery and assault," another officer said.

"Armed robbery!?" Davy exclaimed.

"_Assault!?_" Mike yelped.

"Yep," the officer said. Then he turned to Davy. "Do you know this man?" He asked.

"Know him!?" Davy exclaimed. "Of course I know him! I've known him for years, he's my best friend! We're in a group together!"

"Oh?" The officer said, raising his eyebrows. "You're in his group?"

"Yeah, the Monkees," Davy said.

"HE ADMITTED IT!" The ticket master yelled. "HELP! OFFICERS! ARREST HIM!"

"What!?" Davy exclaimed as one of the guards clapped handcuffs around his wrists. "You must be joking! What'd _I _do?"

"You admitted to being his accomplice," one of the officers said. "You're a part of his gang, you just said so yourself!"

"Gang!?" Davy said as the officers led him and Mike out of the station and towards a bunch of police cars that were pulling up. "We're not in any gang! That was all just a mistake, a big misunderstanding! I swear, we didn't want to be part of a gang war!"

"Davy, stop talking," Mike said. His instincts were kicking in despite the shock and panic he felt, and he knew that anything they said could (and would) be used against them in a court of law.

He just hoped that wherever they were, Peter and Micky were faring better than he was.

* * *

As Micky and Peter stepped into the small grocery store, the first thing they noticed was the fact that everyone was acting extremely strange.

One man in the store uniform was crying, in fact, but he hurried up to Micky and Peter.

"Get out," he whispered. "Before they find you!"

"What!?" Micky said. "Before who finds us?"

"Well, look what we have here," said a voice that was all too familiar.

"Mike!?" Peter asked, staring at the man in front of him, who stared back coldly.

"I don't think that's Mike," Micky whispered.

Peter was confused. "I don't either, anymore," he said. "But just out of curiosity, what makes you say that?"

"Well, for one thing, this Mike is wearing different clothes," Micky said. "For another, he has a gun. And finally, look at his hat!"

Peter looked up and gasped. The Not-Mike was wearing a wool hat, just like Mike's, except it was bright red.

"Who are you?" Peter demanded. "And why do you look just like Mike?"

"Who are _you_?" The Not-Mike returned. "And why do _you_ look so stupid?"

Peter knew this wasn't Mike, but hearing the words from Mike's voice coming out of Mike's mouth was like being slapped in the face.

"Hey, Peter's not the only one!" Micky exclaimed angrily. Only, it had sounded much different in his head.

The Not-Mike laughed. "I can see that," he said. "Now, get over there, with the others."

He waved his gun in the general direction of an aisle, and as Micky and Peter walked closer, they could see several people sitting there looking scared.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Micky asked a man who was sitting there. "It's a robbery," the man explained. "The cashier locked herself in the office with the safe. They're trying to get in now."

"Who was that guy?" Peter asked. "Have you ever seen him before?"

"Seen him?" The man said. "Of course I've seen him! Everybody in town's seen him, his mug shot is everywhere!"

"Okay," Micky said nervously. "We're new here, just passing through. Who is he?"

"His name's Cal Sanders. He's the head of a local gang."

Micky groaned. "Not another gang," he muttered before turning back to the man.

"Have you called the police?" he asked. The man nodded. "The only telephone is in the office, so I'm sure the cashier has called for help by now."

Micky nodded. "Well, if they're on their way, we should be fine," he said.

Just then, Cal came around the corner, followed by two thug types, holding bags.

"Alright," Cal said. "We've got the money and we picked up a few groceries while we were here. Who's gonna volunteer to help us carry them home?"

Everybody backed up a few feet, leaving Micky and Peter in the front of the line.

"Great," Micky said. "Figures. Thanks, guys."

"We only need one hostage to get us outta the store," Cal said. "The police are gonna be here any minute, so we've got to move quickly."

"What do you need a hostage for, anyway!?" Micky asked.

"So the police don't fire at us," Cal answered. "Nothin' like a human shield to get past the cops."

"I'll go," Peter said bravely. "I'd never let you hurt Micky!"

"No, Peter!" Micky said. "I can't let you do that! They might kill you!"

"So you're volunteering instead?" Cal said with a smirk.

"I'm gonna miss you when you're gone," Micky told Peter.

"I'll miss you, too, Micky," Peter said. "Tell my mother that I love her!"

"Oh, enough with the mush fest!" Cal said, pulling Peter to his feet. "Come on, blondie, let's go."

"I resent that," Peter said as they walked over to the front door.

With a crash, the front door opened and several police officers stormed in. "FREEZE!" They yelled.

"Oh, not again!" Micky groaned.

"Put your guns down," Cal ordered the police officers. "I've got a hostage!" He pointed his gun at Peter.

"I'd like to take this moment to unvolunteer," Peter said nervously.

"Well, too bad!" Cal said, edging towards the door. "Clear away from the door," He commanded. The police men stepped back from the door.

"HA!" Cal yelled. He moved to stand in the doorway as the two thugs with bags ran out. "Once I'm out," he said to the police officers. "I want you to give your chief a message. You tell him that I laughed in your faces. Haha!"

As he was yelling, the door opened and a little old lady came in. She looked around at all the people and the police men, and she looked up at Cal, who was still holding a gun to Peter's head.

"You'll never take me," Cal said, oblivious to the old lady. "I'M UNSTOPPABLE!"

With a swing, the little old lady hit him in the back of her head with her purse.

"Now, why does that always happen?" Cal wondered aloud before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Thanks, Matilda," One of the police officers said, putting his gun down and walking up to Cal.

"Oh, that's alright," Matilda said. "I never did like that boy. Used to come steal my cookies every week when he was little."

"We hear that a lot, actually," the police officer said. "Are you alright?" He asked Peter, who nodded.

"Yes," he said. "I'm fine."

"The others have escaped," One of the other officers reported. The one in charge sighed. "We'll get 'em all eventually," he said. Then he turned back to Peter.

"Well," he said. "If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know."

"Oh, we're just here to pick up some lunch," Micky said, back to his normal self now that the immediate danger was over.

"I wonder who the other guy is," The police officer mused. Micky stopped.

"What do you mean, other guy?" He asked.

"Well, right before we came in here, we got a message over the radio that Cal Sanders was picked up at the train station, trying to skip town."

It didn't take long for Micky and Peter to figure it out. "MIKE!" They both exclaimed.

* * *

Davy paced the cell as Mike sat on a bench, playing the harmonica. Where he'd gotten it from, Davy didn't know.

"What are we going to do?" He asked for the fifth time.

Mike stopped playing for a moment. "I told you," he said. "We'll get out of this. Once I figure out what they want me for, I'll be able to set the record straight and they'll let us go."

"Don't try to play this down, Mike," Davy said. "I know you're worried, I can see it in your eyes. What're they playing at, armed robbery!? I never heard the like!"

"I don't know, Tiny," Mike said. "I don't know."

He raised the harmonica, but before he could start playing, the door burst open and Micky ran in, followed by Peter and the officer in charge of the keys.

"Mike!" Micky yelled. "Mike, we came as soon as we heard! We explained everything, it was all just a big misunderstanding!"

"I said so," Davy said as the officer unlocked the cell.

"The chief would like to speak with you in his office," the officer said. "Follow me."

The Monkees followed the officer through the station and into the chiefs office. Sitting in all the available chairs, they looked up and waited for the chief to speak.

"Well, boys, we've got a problem," the chief said.

"Yeah? And what is this problem?" Mike asked.

"Cal Sanders," The chief responded. "He's the biggest problem in Muskogee. Has been for years."

"Who's Cal Sanders?" Mike asked.

"He's your double," Micky said excitedly. "That's why they arrested you. Cal Sanders looks just like you, and he's the head of a local gang here in Muskogee."

"Really?" Mike asked in surprise. "Huh. What are the odds of that?"

"I know," Micky said with a smile. "Both our doubles are gang leaders! Some coincidence!"

"Anyway," the chief said. "Thanks to Matilda Donaldson, Cal Sanders was arrested at the supermarket. But the rest of his gang's still out there."

"Oh no," Mike said, standing up. "Oh no, I know exactly what you're going to say, and let me tell you, I'm not going to do it!"

"Now look here," The chief said. "You look just like him-"

"Nope!" Mike said, moving towards the door. "Believe me, man, impersonating a gang boss to infiltrate his gang never works out the way you want it to. I've seen it!"

"Oh, come now," The chief said. "You've seen a person who happens to look exactly like a gang boss impersonate him in order to infiltrate his gang and round up all the members? I find that hard to believe!"

"Believe it man, you've got Baby Face Morales right here," Micky said. The chief took a real look at him. "Oh my!" He said. "You really bear a resemblance, don't you?"

"Yes he does," Mike said. "Which is why I can say from his experience that I want no part of it!"

"Well, what are we going to do about the Munkeys!?" The chief exclaimed.

"The what!?" The Monkees all said together.

"The Munkeys, that's the name of their gang," The chief explained. "These two young men told me all about your band," He said, referring to Micky and Peter. "That was one reason we'd arrested you, too," He said, now turning to Davy. "You said you were part of his group, the Monkees. We thought you meant you were a part of Cal's gang, the Munkeys."

"Now, this is just too much," Mike said. "Look, Chief, I don't like running out on you, not with Muskogee plagued by this gang. But we really want no part in it, any of it. We're trying to avoid gang activity, which is why we were in Muskogee in the first place. So, good luck with catching the Munkeys. But we're going to Connecticut and that's final!"

With that, the Monkees all left the station and called a cab to the train station.

Luckily for them, their luggage was all still there, so after sitting for a few moments, deciding they needed a break, Mike sent Micky to go buy the tickets.

"Hello," Micky said to the ticket master.

"Hey, there, sonny," the man said with a smile. "What can I get for ya?"

"Four tickets heading East, please," Micky said. "Cheapest you got."

The man looked at a chart on the board. "There's only one more train heading east until tomorrow," he said. "Let's see, four tickets you said? That'll be forty dollars!"

"Thank you," Micky said, paying the money. Returning to the others, he gave them each their ticket.

"Thanks, Mick," Mike said, putting his ticket in his pocket without looking at it. "Man, what a day!"

"Yeah, it's been real crazy," Peter said. "Maybe we'll be able to catch a nap on the train."

"We'd better," Mike said. "If I hear one more crazy thing, I think I'm going to scream."

"NOW BOARDING FOR CLARKSVILLE!" The conductor called out.

The Monkees all looked at each other, stunned. Looking down, Micky read the name on his ticket.

"...That's us," He said in disbelief. "I can't believe it! We got The Last Train to Clarksville!"

"You gotta be kidding me!" Mike said with a groan.


	5. The Last Train to Clarksville

"If I hear any singing whatsoever," Mike said as the Monkees boarded the last train to Clarksville, "I swear, I'm going to throw a tantrum like a two year old. This day has been nothing but disastrous, and all I want to do is find our seats and take a nap. Got it?"

"Got it!" The Monkees all agreed.

"Gee, I hope we don't run into any gang members on this train," Micky said as the four musicians jostled past all of the passengers boarding the train.

"Oh, excuse me, miss," Peter said after bumping into an elegant lady in a pretty black coat and hat.

"Oh, that's alright," she said quietly, smiling at him before continuing down the aisle.

Peter glanced back at her. "I wonder what's wrong," he said.

"What do you mean?" Davy asked.

Peter shrugged. "She just seemed so sad," he said. "I wish we could help her."

"There's probably nothing we could have done anyway, Peter," Mike said. "Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Peter said with a sigh. "Let's just go find our seats, like you said."

They found their seats soon enough, and despite the uncomfortable chairs and the noisy car, Mike fell asleep almost immediately, as did Micky, who promptly began snoring.

"What do you know, he does snore," Davy said as he settled down in his seat. "It's a wonder too, I'll never be able to sleep in such a hard seat."

"Yeah, they're not exactly comfortable," agreed Peter, who had gotten a seat directly in front of a small boy, who was entertaining himself by kicking the back of Peter's chair.

Everything got quiet after the train started moving, however. The small boy fell asleep in his chair, most of the passengers either slept or read or other quiet things. The train jostled every now and again, but for the most part, the ride was smooth and quiet. After about a half hour, Micky woke up.

"Huh, wha' happened?" He slurred, looking around bleary-eyed at the quiet car.

"It got too quiet, I guess," Peter said. "It woke you up."

"Which doesn't even make any sense, by the way," Davy said.

Micky yawned, ignoring Davy's comment. "Hey, let's go exploring," he said.

"Exploring!?" Davy exclaimed quietly. "Why? It's night time!"

"Yeah, but I can't sleep now," Micky said. "I just had a nap, now I'm wide awake!"

"But wait," Peter said. "Don't you remember what happened the last time you went exploring?"

"Oh, that won't happen again," Micky said. "We don't have any information on a gang with us. Nobody's looking for us this time."

Davy sighed. "Oh, alright," he said. "Not like I'd get any sleep around here anyway."

With that, the three of them got up quietly, so as not to wake up Mike, and crept down the aisle to explore the rest of the train.

Of course, exploring a train at night was a lot different than during the day. Most people were asleep, so they couldn't strike up any conversations. The three Monkees walked the length of the train without running into anything particularly interesting, and then they began their return trip.

"Well, that was a waste of time," Davy said as they walked through one car. "Nothing happened at all."

"I thought you didn't _want_ anything to happen," Peter said with a confused frown.

Davy glanced at him. "Well, I don't want anything _bad_ to happen," he clarified. "I wouldn't mind if anything interesting happened. Beats sitting around doing nothing."

Just then the door to the next car burst open and the lady that Peter had bumped into earlier came rushing into the car.

"Oh," she said in a panicked whisper when she saw them. "You never saw me! I didn't come this way, got it!?"

With that, she ducked behind a row of chairs about halfway up the aisle.

"How about that?" Micky asked Davy. "Interesting enough for you?"

"Something tells me this is going to classify in the 'bad' category," Davy said.

The door opened again and three men came into the room. "Hey!" One of them said, spotting the three musicians. "You there! Did a woman come through this car just now? Wearing a black dress and hat, brown curly hair?"

"Nope, didn't see her!" Micky said as Peter and Davy shook their heads. "Maybe she was in the last car, and you missed her?"

"Hmph, maybe," the man said. "If you see her, let me know, got it?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Micky said. "I'll come find you and let you know."

"Heh. Smart kid," the man said. "Come on, guys. Let's go double check the last car."

The three men left the car and Peter turned to the rest of the car. "Okay, they're gone," he said. The lady stood up and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you," she said. "I don't know what they would have done if they'd found me."

"What did they want with you, anyway?" Davy asked.

The lady hesitated. "Well..." she said. "To be completely honest with you, they're after me because of this."

Reaching into her black clutch purse, she pulled out a golden ring with a huge diamond set in the middle.

"Wow, would you look at that!" Micky said, his eyes wide.

"That's the biggest diamond I think I've ever seen!" Davy exclaimed.

"Where'd you get it?" Peter asked. "It's not... it's not stolen, is it?"

The lady laughed. "Not exactly," she said. "Well, not by me, anyway."

"It's stolen!?" Micky exclaimed.

"Shh," the lady exclaimed, glancing at all the sleeping passengers. "I didn't know it was stolen when I accepted it. Although, I should have guessed, knowing the man who gave it to me."

"Who gave it to you?" Davy asked.

The lady sighed. "Johnny Brewster. He's my fiancee."

"So, Johnny stole this ring and gave it to you?" Peter asked. "That wasn't very nice."

"Oh, he can't help it," the lady said. "It's his job."

"You mean Johnny Brewster is a thief!?" Micky whispered excitedly.

"Worse," the lady said. "He's a Good Guy."

"Now, this is why we shouldn't have gone exploring," Davy said.

"And I'm a member of the Black Rose gang," the lady continued. "Katie the Killer at your service."

"Katie the Killer!?" Micky yelped. "Don't kill us, please!"

Katie the Killer laughed. "Don't worry," she said. "I'm not a real killer. That's just my handle. I kill with my charm and good looks. But I don't want to be Katie the Killer anymore. I want to go back to being plain old Kate Harper, and I want to marry Johnny Brewster. But they don't let you out of the Black Rose gang that easily."

"Oh, so those guys were after you because you want to leave your gang?" Peter asked.

"Oh, no," Kate said with a laugh. "Those men are Good Guys, and they were after me because they think I stole from them. You see, Johnny's a Good Guy, and this diamond ring is from the loot his group stole from a house in Sand Springs. Johnny took it to give to me, as an engagement ring, but he didn't know that his boss, Stevie Garcia, had the jewelry counted. He noticed the ring was missing, and he confronted Johnny. Johnny had no choice, he told Stevie that I'd stolen the ring."

"Some boyfriend," Micky said with a scoff.

"Oh, it's not his fault," Kate said. "You see, Stevie already suspects us. If he ever found out that Johnny was seeing me, he'd kill him!"

"Well," Peter started, but Davy nudged him. They couldn't spill the Good Guys secret about faking their deaths. Not that they wanted the gang to be successful, but they didn't want the Black Rose Gang to be successful either, and if they told Kate the Good Guys secret, the Black Rose Gang would have the edge.

"So those guys are after you because Stevie thinks you stole the ring from his stolen loot?" Davy asked.

"Yes, that's right," Kate said. "Johnny is trying to stall him until we reach Clarksville. Once we get there, we can shake the rest of his branch. Johnny's going to sell the rest of his portion, and then we're going to run away together to Paris, where we'll marry and live out the rest of our lives as unsuccessful artists, but we'll have enough money from our days as thieves to live out our lives comfortably."

"Well, that sounds nice," Peter said. "Good luck!"

Kate smiled. "Thank you for hiding me," she said. "I'd give you a reward, but something tells me you wouldn't want any of my money."

"Yeah, you got that right," Micky said. "Thanks anyway, but we just want to get back to our seats without getting involved in another gang war."

"Another?" Kate asked. "You've been in one before?"

"Yesterday, in fact," Micky said. "We got caught up in an interception thing between-"

Davy elbowed him, glancing at Kate. It also wouldn't do for her to know that they had helped the Good Guys deliver an envelope full of information on her gang to the California police.

"Well, the point is, we don't want to get involved," Micky said. "Good luck with Paris, I hope you and Johnny are very happy together."

"Thank you boys," Kate said. "Good luck with not getting involved."

With that, the Monkees left the car.

They only made it past two cars, however, before they were stopped by one of the men who had been after Kate earlier.

"I need to talk to you boys," he whispered. "It's important!"

"Uh-uh," Davy said. "I'm sorry, but we're not involved. At all. So we'll just be going now..."

"Look, I didn't want to have to do this," the man said desperately, pulling a gun out and training it at the three of them. "But you leave me no choice. You're coming with me."

"Don't even try it," Davy said. "You're a Good Guy, Good Guys don't kill."

The man looked surprised. "You know that?" he said. "That's a gang secret!"

"Yeah, well, you're not the first Good Guy we've come across," Peter said.

"Well, in that case, you _have_ to help me!" The man said. "I know that Kate Harper went into that car. So that means you were hiding her. I'm Agent Elderberry, my real name is Johnny Brewster, and she's my fiancee. Please tell me she's safe!"

Micky sighed. "Yeah, she's safe," he said. "But we really don't want to get involved, so we'll just be on our way."

"But you know about the gang secret," Johnny said. "That means you're already involved. You've got to help me. Stevie and Clint are suspicious of me, they're not going to let me out of their sight when we reach Clarksville. You've gotta help me break out of the gang!"

Micky let out a small moan. He looked over at Davy and Peter, who looked back at him. They all knew what they were going to do next.

"Fine," Micky said. "We'll help you break out of the gang."

"Thank you," Johnny said. "Thank you so much, first thing you have to do is take me to Kate."

Davy sighed. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "Let's go."

* * *

"Kate!" Johnny said in a whisper, running down the aisle towards Kate, who stood up and smiled as Johnny picked her up and spun her in a small circle.

"Johnny!" She said, laughing and then looking around. "What are you doing here?" She asked in a whisper. "Won't Stevie be suspicious?"

"Forget Stevie," Johnny said. "I've got some help from these three boys, they're going to help me break out of my gang. Then we can go to Paris and get married!"

"Oh, Johnny, I love you!" Kate said.

"Oh, Kate, I love you too!" Johnny said.

"Guys, not to interrupt," Davy said, stepping up to the couple. "But we need to decide how we're going to break you out of the gang, and we need to decide quickly!"

"Right," Johnny said. "Um, any suggestions?"

The Monkees all looked at each other.

"One thing I'd like to know," Micky said. "How did you two fall in love anyway, being in separate gangs and all?"

"Well, it all started at a jewel heist in Alabama," Johnny said. "She was supposed to come and pretend to be an Agent so she could pick up the ice."

"But I took one look at Johnny and fell in love," she said. "I could tell he wasn't happy being a gang member, so I took a chance and told him who I was."

"It didn't make any difference in the world to me," Johnny said. "She didn't want to be in the gang anymore either, so we made secret plans to see each other."

"We've been secretly dating for six months," Kate said. "But now, we can't get married, because if anybody from our two gangs found out, they would hunt us down and kill us both!"

"Boy, sounds like a real Romeo and Juliet story," Peter said.

"That's it!" Johnny said. "We've just gotta do what they did, and we can run away without having to worry about them tracking us down!"

"But, Romeo and Juliet both died!" Micky said.

"Exactly!" Johnny said. "We've got to fake our own deaths! Then we can go to Paris and we'll never have to worry about being followed!"

"Oh, Johnny, that's a great idea!" Kate said. "But...how are we going to do that?"

"Oh, it's easy," Johnny said. "I've already done it twice. It'll be harder to fake your death, however. You see, the Good Guys Gang doesn't kill anybody."

"Really!?" Kate asked in surprise. "But, I've seen it in the newspapers, they kill all the time!"

"No, see, it's always faked," Johnny said. "I've got the equipment to do it here on the train, so it'll be easy to make it look like you shot me. But I don't know what to do about you, because my gang will never believe that I shot anybody, so they'd be suspicious about the whole thing."

"Well, then what are we going to do?" Kate asked.

"Hey, wait a minute," Micky said. "I've seen this on tons of movies! We've gotta make it look like you committed suicide."

"Suicide!?" Kate said. "How would I do that!?"

"Well, we go to a car filled with lots of people, for witnesses," Micky said. "You pretend to confront Johnny about the diamond, and then he'll say that he's really a member of the Good Guys Gang, and that he was just using you to get information on your gang. You get mad, you cry a little, say he betrayed your trust and love or something, and then you shoot him, and then you shoot yourself. You both die in front of the witnesses, and then you hide until you get to Clarksville! It's foolproof!"

"I wouldn't exactly say foolproof," Davy said, but Johnny and Kate seemed to like the idea.

"Let's do it," Johnny said. "I'll go get the equipment."

* * *

"Boy, I hope this works," Micky said nervously as he, Davy and Peter sat in some of the available chairs in one of the cars.

"Relax, Micky," Davy said. "We're supposed to be calm until they come in."

At that moment, Johnny and Kate entered the cars from two different sides, Kate holding one of Johnny's fake guns, which had been emptied of it's water supply.

"OH NO, THAT WOMAN'S GOT A GUN!" Micky yelled, waking up several of the sleeping passengers, who started screaming.

"Be quiet!" Kate said emotionally, fake tears running down her face. "All of you, quiet down!"

The passengers quieted down, and Kate began her performance.

"Johnny, how could you!?" She demanded. "I thought you loved me!"

"I'm sorry, Kate," Johnny said dramatically. "But I'm not who you thought I was. I work for..."

He looked up into the distance. "The Good Guys Gang!" He announced. Kate let out a sob and the rest of the passengers gasped.

"Well, I'm a member of the Black Rose Gang!" Kate announced to several more gasps from the passengers.

"I know," Johnny said, turning to her. "That's why I got close to you. I've been using you, Kate, to spy on your gang!"

"You... you spy!" Kate yelled. "You liar! You don't love me! You never loved me!"

"I'm sorry, Kate," Johnny said, in a tone that was far from sorry. "I could never love a killer like you!"

Kate let out a small yell and pulled the trigger, causing a bang and a little bit of smoke. Johnny fell to the ground with a yell, pressing a small packet of red paste against his chest over his heart. The packet burst, causing the illusion of blood to stain his shirt and fingers.

"Yealgh!" Micky exclaimed. He knew it was fake, but it looked gross.

"I loved him," Kate sobbed, looking down at Johnny's "dead" body. "I don't care if he used me, I loved him!"

With that, she lifted the gun to her head and pulled the trigger a second time. There was another bang, but she didn't need to worry about fake blood, because her hat covered most of her head anyway.

Then the passengers started screaming for real, and some of them even fainted. Security guards came in and were shocked and startled by the two bodies on the floor.

"Is there a doctor in the car?" One of them asked. Now it was Peter's part.

"I'm a doctor," he said in a deep voice, standing up. He had dressed for the occasion, he had one of those headbands with a round mirror on it wrapped around his head, and he had a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He examined both bodies, and pronounced them dead.

Several of the passengers told their stories to the security guards, and the guards carried the bodies out of the car, as the stewards ushered the distraught passengers to other cars and promised refunds to those who demanded it.

Peter, Micky and Davy hung around for awhile, making sure to give their statements to the guards asking the questions, so that the story would be clear.

Finally, as they walked back towards their car, they heard a "Psst!" From an elderly couple sitting in two chairs in the back of a car. Walking up a little closer, they saw that the couple was Kate and Johnny, in disguise.

"Thanks, boys," Kate whispered, smiling from ear to ear. "We couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah," Johnny said. "Hey, if you ever get to Paris, look us up. We'll be happy to show you around, maybe even give you a place to stay, if we have enough honest money. We know you don't like to use the rest."

"Hey, thanks," Davy whispered. "We were happy to help you break out of your gangs. Take care of yourselves, you hear?"

"Don't worry," Kate said. "We're off the map for real, now. No more crime, we can finally settle down and live like honest folk."

With a final goodbye, Davy, Micky and Peter all moved off towards their car, where Mike was still dead asleep in his seat. After the night they'd just had, it didn't take long for the three of them to fall asleep themselves.

* * *

"ALL OFF FOR CLARKSVILLE," The conductor called out, waking the four boys in the morning.

The four musicians gathered their things and went to the ticket booth to get tickets for another train.

"Well, that actually wasn't that bad," Mike said with a yawn while the ticket master got their tickets East. "I expected some horrible adventure to happen. But nothing happened after all. How about you guys? Did you sleep well?"

The other three Monkees looked at each other, wordlessly asking if they should tell Mike about the night they'd had. They decided not to worry him with details.

"Well, we stayed up a bit later," Davy said. "You know how it is, with the springy seats and the bumpy train ride."

"Yeah, I guess so," Mike said, handing each of the Monkees a ticket. "I was just so tired, I could probably have slept through a murder."

Micky laughed. "A murder, that's real funny, man," he said, looking down at his ticket. "But, I'm glad you got to sleep the night through. Something tells me we're gonna need it."

"Really?" Mike asked. "What makes you say that?"

"Cause the next stop on our trip is a town called Hazard," Micky said, pointing at his ticket. "And I don't know how it got it's name, but after the kind of trip we've been having, something tells me it was a prophecy about us."


	6. A Town Called Hazard

The Monkees looked warily out of the train window and gazed around at the very small town around them.

"We've got an hours delay here in Hazard," The conductor said to the passengers, opening the door of the train. "Be back here at 12:00 noon, and then it's on to Blackburg, Virginia!"

"Alright, guys," Mike said as they moved to exit the train. "You know I'm not usually superstitious. But with the trip we've been having, I want you all to be extra careful. Just our luck that something bad would happen in a town called Hazard."

"Got it," Davy said.

"Got it," Micky repeated.

Peter tripped as he stepped off the train, landing on his face.

"Got it," he said as the other Monkees helped him to his feet.

"Well, this couldn't have gotten off to a worse start," Micky said.

"Oh, why'd you say that!?" Davy groaned. "Now you've jinxed it!"

Surprisingly, however, the hour went by with no mishaps, aside from Micky spilling some soda on his jacket, which wasn't so much bad luck as it was Micky being goofy and clumsy as usual.

It wasn't until they went to get back on the train when their real bad luck started.

"Hey Mike, have you seen my ticket?" Micky asked, searching his pockets. Mike put his hand on his forehead.

"Don't tell me you lost it," he said.

"Okay," Micky said, resuming the search of his pockets in silence.

"Well?" Mike asked after a moment.

"You said not to tell you I'd lost it," Micky said innocently.

"Micky!" Mike groaned. "How could you have lost your ticket? Didn't I tell you all to be extra careful?"

"Yeah, I was careful," Micky said defensively. "I was really careful! I even made sure to take it out of my pocket and set it on the bathroom counter when I cleaned all the soda off my jacket!"

"Oh, Micky," Mike said. "You probably left it on the counter!"

"Well, I could run back and get it," Micky said.

"No, we don't have time for that," Mike said. "We'll just have to buy you another ticket."

With that, he led the way to the ticket counter. "One ticket to Blackburg, Virginia, please," Mike requested.

The ticket master was an old man, he looked to be about 80 years old.

"Wha' was tha', shonny?" He said with a pronounceable lisp.

"I said, one ticket to Blackburg, please," Mike said, slightly louder.

"Oh, juss wait a shecond," The man said, turning around slowly. Shuffling over to a shelf, he picked up an old fashioned hearing aid. He turned back to the boys slowly, shuffled back to the window, and then, with a smile, he lifted the hearing aid up to his ear, and held the wider end up to Mike. "Shay it again, shonny?" He said.

"We'll take one ticket to Blackburg, please!" Mike said into the hearing aid.

"What'sh that?" The man said.

"I said- I said one ticket to Blackburg!" Mike said, raising his voice even louder.

"Huh?" The old man said.

"ONE TICKET TO BLACKBURG!" Mike yelled into the hearing aid.

"Oh, why didn'tshu shay sho?" The man said with a chuckle.

Slowly turning around, the old man shuffled over to another shelf.

Straining slightly, the man reached up and grabbed a ticket. Then he slowly turned and shuffled back to the window.

"Here ya go, shonny," he said. "That'll be ten dollarsh!"

"About time," Mike said, reaching into his pocket. "Oh no..."

"What? What is it?" Davy asked him.

Mike turned to the rest of the group. "You guys haven't seen my wallet, have you?" He asked.

"Well, this couldn't possibly get any worse," Micky said.

The others rolled their eyes as thunder clapped overhead.

"You know, there are some phrases I should just stay away from," Micky grumbled.

"You think?" The other three Monkees said together.

They all made their way to a diner down the street to get out of the rain and discuss what they were going to do about the lost wallet and ticket.

"We could retrace our steps," Peter suggested. "Walk around town to all the places we went, and then maybe we'd find your wallet."

"That would take too long, though," Davy said. "We'd miss the train."

A whistle sounded outside, and Mike looked at his watch.

"Too late," he said. "The hour's up. The train's leaving without us."

"Man, I'm sorry I made you all miss the train," Micky said.

"That's alright, Micky," said Peter. "If you hadn't lost your ticket, we would never have realized Mike's wallet was gone, and we'd be on our way to Virginia with no money at all."

"Either that or I left my wallet on the train," Mike said. "And now we're stuck in Hazard with no money at all."

They all thought on this for a second. "What about our luggage?" Davy asked suddenly. "Do you think it got left on the train?"

"Let's hope not," Mike said. "But if it was, we'll just have to try and get most of it back whenever we make it to Virginia. In the meantime, we've got to try and come up with a way to make enough money to get anywhere at all."

"Right," Micky said. "The best way to make money, for us anyway, is to perform. So let's head down to the station and cross our fingers that some mistake caused our instruments to be left behind."

* * *

At the station, they were pleased to see that the train had indeed left their luggage behind. The conductor, a friendly man who had talked to the boys, had noticed that they were late and had their luggage sent to the baggage claim area, along with a note apologizing for leaving them behind and wishing them luck on the rest of their trip.

"Well, wasn't that thoughtful?" Peter said with a smile, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder and picking up the case with his bass in it.

"Yeah, it was nice of him," Mike said, picking up his own guitar case. "The only thing is, what are we going to do with all our luggage while we try to earn some money?"

"Well, that guy at the diner was pretty groovy," Davy said. "Maybe he'd let us drop our luggage off there for awhile."

Mike sighed. "It's worth a shot," he said. "Let's go."

The owner of the diner was, as Davy had said, pretty groovy. So the four of them dropped off all their luggage and then discussed their next course of action.

"Right, then," Mike said. "It'll be near on impossible to get a gig on such short notice. So the fastest way to make money would be to busk at the station."

"I still don't think we'll make money very fast," Micky said.

"Why's that?" Asked Peter.

"This town is tiny," Micky responded. "I've only seen about three people on the street since we got here."

"Well, let's go down to the station and get set up anyway," Mike said. "Maybe there'll be a crowd when the next train comes in."

The next train didn't come in for another hour, but as soon as the doors opened, the Monkees started playing as if they were in front of an audience of millions.

Most people ignored them, but a few stood around for awhile and seemed to enjoy it, so when the song was over, Mike took off his hat and held it out to the few that stopped.

One lady dropped in a quarter and another man dropped in two dimes. A little girl ran up with a shy smile to give Mike her prized nickel, and another lady generously gave fifty cents.

"Well," Micky said when the crowd died down and the station was once again empty. "We've been here for an hour and we've made a dollar. I say we should give up."

"Now, Micky, we can't give up now," Mike said. "So we didn't do too well this first time. Maybe next time we'll have more luck."

After an hour, the next train came in, and they did indeed have more luck. This time, the earned a dollar and sixty-two cents.

"So after two hours, we've got two dollars and sixty-two cents," Micky said. "Can we give up now?"

"No, we'll try one more time," Mike said. "You know what they say; third time's the charm."

An hour later found them playing their very best and earning nothing more than a smile and five cents.

"Well, I'd say it's about time we gave up," Mike said as the train sped away, taking most of their audience with it.

"Give up!?" Said a voice, and the Monkees all turned around to see a man standing there, watching them in shock.

"Why would you give up?!" He asked. "I just got here, and the end of that song was amazing! Sing it again, please?"

Mike looked at the others. They didn't see much point in playing for an audience of one, but Mike nodded that they would go ahead and play. If the man liked them so much, maybe they'd get another fifty cents out of him, and that would still be fifty cents closer to reaching Connecticut.

So they played the song again, they had been singing Pleasant Valley Sunday. The man watched them eagerly, and when they were done, he clapped enthusiastically.

"Bravo!" He said. "Brava! Bravissimo!"

"I think we found a nutjob," Davy whispered to Peter, who shook his head with a chuckle.

"That's not very nice," He whispered back.

The man hadn't heard them, however, and he walked up to Mike and held out his hand.

"My name is Eric J. Wetherringtonsonheimer," he said.

"Oh, really?" Mike asked, blinking in astonishment. "Uh, I'm Michael Nesmith, That's Davy Jones, Micky Dolenz, and Peter Tork. We're the Monkees."

"Yes, excellent," said Eric J. Wetherringtonsonheimer. "Capital, capital! You see, I am the owner of a small club here in Hazard. It's called The Hazard Dance Club!"

"Catchy name," Micky said, a little sarcastically. Mike shot him a look.

"Yes, I thought so myself," Eric said, oblivious to the sarcasm. "But you see, the local band that was supposed to play tonight had to cancel due to the flu epidemic that's been going around town, and there are no other bands in town to take their place."

"Oh, well, gee, that's too bad," Mike said, although he was really thinking that the news couldn't have come at a better time.

"Yes, poor boys, they were so looking forward to it," Eric said. "But, you four couldn't have shown up at a better time! How would you like to play at The Hazard Dance Club tonight?"

"How much are you willing to pay us?" Mike asked.

Eric chuckled. "Well, my boy, for music like that, I'd be willing to pay a hundred dollars, twenty-five for each of you!"

Mike looked at the others, then turned back to Eric. "Well do it," the four of them said simultaneously.

"Excellent!" Eric said. "Be there tonight at six to get set up, the concert starts at eight, play as long as you feel able, and I'll go do some last minute advertising. Hoo hoo, with out-of-town musicians, I'll be sure to draw in quite the crowd!"

With that, Eric J. Wetherringtonsonheimer hurried off.

"That was lucky," Mike said.

"Yeah," Davy agreed. "But there's just one thing he forgot to tell us."

"Yeah, what's that?" Micky asked.

"We have no idea where The Hazard Dance Club is," Davy responded.

Micky groaned. "Oh yeah..."

* * *

The club wasn't all that hard to find, however. The Monkees just walked around town for awhile until they came across it. They had two and a half hours before they were supposed to show up, however, so they went back to the diner to hang out until then.

Even though they didn't have money with them, the owner gave them dinner and sodas once he heard they were scheduled to play a gig at the dance club, taking their word that they would pay him back.

So they ate their food and had plenty of time to get to the club at six.

* * *

"We're here," Mike called as they walked in.

"Excellent!" Eric exclaimed, running towards them from an office area. "Come on in, come on in! The bandstand is over there!"

He led them to the bandstand and the Monkees looked around at the small club.

"Not bad," Micky said as he set up his drums.

"Nope," Mike agreed. "Not bad at all."

With that, they began rehearsal.

* * *

Playing at the Hazard Dance Club wasn't much different from any other gig they'd had, except the crowd was smaller and every once in awhile, someone in the audience would sneeze.

After the Monkees had played for a few hours and had sung almost every song of theirs that they could think of, they took a bow and left the bandstand.

"You were excellent," Eric said, jogging up to the four boys. "I mean it! And I think the audience loved you too!"

As if to prove his point, a group of teenagers came up to meet the band.

"I think I'll leave you youngsters to it," Eric said with a smile as one of the girls smiled flirtingly at Davy. "Come and talk to me when you're done, and I'll give you your pay."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Mike said. "We were just leaving. Right Davy?"

He gave his younger friend a pointed look, and Davy smiled sheepishly. "Right," he said.

"But wait," Said one of the girls. "Can we at least get your autographs?"

"You want our autographs!?" Micky exclaimed with a smile. "Wow, it's like we're famous!"

"You are," said one of the girls. "You are here in Hazard, at least. The only band we ever get here is Ronnie's band. They don't even have a name yet! You guys have your own record album!"

"Yeah, but it doesn't sell," Micky pointed out.

"Well, we'll take what we can get," Mike said. "What do you want us to sign?"

The girls searched their pockets and one of them grabbed a napkin from a nearby table.

"You can sign this," she said, handing it to Mike.

"Alright," he said. "Anybody got a pen?"

One of the other girls pulled a pen out of her purse and handed it to Mike. He took it and signed his name on the napkin, then he handed both to Davy. Davy signed it and passed it to Micky, Micky signed it and passed it to Peter, Peter signed it and handed it to one of the girls, who grabbed both and then launched herself at Peter and began kissing him.

"Hey!" Mike exclaimed, as the other girls pulled her off Peter, who was so red in the face it was almost funny.

"I'm sorry," The girl said with a giggle, also red in the face. "Mary dared me to kiss one of you, and I had to do it! Besides, I've never kissed anybody famous before. I liked it."

Peter, still blushing furiously, opened and closed his mouth helplessly, and the teenagers all laughed good naturedly and moved off.

"Ahem," Eric cleared his throat, a little embarrassed himself. "Um, that was Jody. She's a bit..."

"Forward?" Mike suggested.

"Desperate?" Davy guessed.

"Crazy?" Micky supplied helpfully.

"Yeah," Eric said. "I guess you could say that. But, no harm done, right, young man?"

He gave Peter a clap on the back, and the blonde finally seemed to come to his senses.

"Er, yeah..." He said quietly. "No harm done... Achoo!"

"Gesundheit," Micky said to Peter.

"Bless you," Eric said to Micky. "Now then, one hundred dollars, I said. Here you go."

He handed the money to Mike, who pocketed the bills and shook Mr. Eric J. Wetherringtonsonheimer's hand.

"Thanks for the job," he said. "We were in a pretty tight spot, this really helped us out."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Eric said jovially. "If you boys are ever in town again, give me a call, I'll hire you out to play again in a heartbeat!"

"Thank you," the boys called as they made their way into the night and began walking towards the diner. The owner had graciously agreed to stay open later so they could come and get their luggage after the performance.

As Mike paid the owner for their food, the owner asked them how the concert went.

"Oh, it went fine," Mike said. "I think we were a hit. Say, thanks for letting us store our luggage here."

"Oh, it's no problem," the owner said. "I like to help out visitors when I can. Speaking of which, I know you were broke earlier today, that's why you needed the job over at the club."

"Yeah, that's right," Mike said. "Why?"

"Oh, well, one of the local boys found this wallet under your table sometime after you guys left for the gig." The owner reached into a box marked 'Lost and Found' and pulled out Mike's wallet. "Is it yours?"

"Oh boy, you bet it is," Mike said, smiling and taking the wallet. "Thanks, man, this was all our money for the rest of the trip!"

"Oh, it's no problem," the man said with a shrug. "Like I said, I like helping out any visitors that come by."

"Well, thanks anyway," Mike said, opening the wallet. All of his money was still there. They would have plenty of money to get the rest of the way to Connecticut, and with the extra money they had just earned, they could probably afford to get even better seats for tonight.

"Hey guys," he said, turning to the others. "He found my wallet!"

"That's great!" Micky exclaimed.

"Wonderful!" Davy said.

"Excellent!" Peter said with a sniff.

Mike noticed. "Hey, Pete, are you alright?" He asked.

Peter laughed. "You know Jody?" He said, blushing slightly.

"Yeah, what about her?" Mike asked.

Peter sniffed. "Well, I think she might've had the flu," he said simply.

Mike frowned. "Please don't tell me you haven't been vaccinated?" He said.

"Okay," Peter said.

Mike sighed. "Not this again. Never mind, tell me," he said.

"Oh, okay. I haven't been vaccinated," Peter said.

"Well, this is just great," Mike said before turning to the owner. "Thanks again," he called over his shoulder.

"Alright, let's get to the station," he said to the others. "You know how fast Pete gets sick."

"I can't help it," Peter said with another sniff. "I have a horrible ibbude systeb."

"There he goes," Micky said as Peter, who had been trying to say "immune system" slipped into silence, interrupted only by sniffles and a few sneezes, and every now and again, a cough.

* * *

"Now, let me ask straight up this time," Mike said, turning to Davy and Micky after he finally purchased tickets from the old man. "You both have been vaccinated for the flu, right?"

"Yeah, I have," Micky said, and Davy nodded.

"Good," Mike said. "I have too, and even if I hadn't, I don't get sick. So we should be fine for now. Now, with the extra money we earned tonight, I decided to spring for some better seats."

"Cool," Micky said. "What kinda seats are we talking?"

"Well," Mike said with a slight smile in the corner of his mouth. "I've never been in a sleeping car, have you?"

Micky smiled. "You mean, we're riding in a Pullman?" He asked excitedly.

Mike nodded. "I thought it would be especially good for Peter," He said, glancing worriedly at the blonde, who was leaning against the ticket counter with his eyes closed. He already looked like he had a bit of a fever. With Peter, he got sick very fast, but he recovered just as quickly. As long as he got plenty of rest that night, he would probably be fine in the morning.

"ALL ABOARD FOR EMERSON!" The conductor yelled.

"Welp, that's us," Mike said. "Micky, stick with Peter, got it?"

"Got it!" Micky said, moving to stand beside Peter. "Gee, this is gonna be great! I've never ridden in a sleeping car before! I hope nothing bad happens on this train!"

Mike stopped. "Micky?" he said.

"Yeah, what?" Asked Micky.

"Remember what you said earlier?" Mike asked.

"I said a lot of things, Mike," Micky said with a chuckle. "Be more specific."

Mike sighed and looked at the train before boarding. "There are some phrases you should just stay away from."


	7. Night Train to Emerson

It was just their luck they got stuck in the Pullman that happened to be haunted. It was a rather old Pullman, Mike had gotten the tickets at a bargain, 'cause no one else wanted the car. Hoping for a good night's sleep, they had all got settled in fairly quickly. That was when the moaning started.

"Gee Peter, you must really be feeling badly," Micky said worriedly.

"That was't be," Peter said with a sniff.

"Really?" Micky asked, baffled. "Mike, was it you?"

"Nope, wasn't me," The Texan replied. "Davy, was it you?"

"No way, man," Davy said. "Micky, was it you?"

"Of course it wasn't me, I started this whole thing," Micky said.

"Well, then, who was it?" Mike asked sitting up.

"I don't know," Micky said. "But I hope they don't do it again. That was one creepy sound."

"OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo ..."

"You're right," Davy said, as he, Micky and Peter all sat up in their beds, looking at each other fearfully. "That was really creepy."

"Yeah, you said it!" Micky said.

Peter nodded and sneezed. "Wha'd'ya thik it is?" he asked.

"I don't know," Micky said, chuckling nervously. "Maybe a friendly spirit, or a nice little ghost, who can tell at this time of night?"

Suddenly a ghostly figure in a white robe materialized out of nowhere.

"I am the ghost of Christmas past," she said in a singsong voice, silvery hair flowing down past her waist.

"Christmas Past?" Davy asked in disbelief. "You must be joking! Christmas isn't for months yet!"

"Oh, really?" The ghost asked, looking around. "Whoops, this wasn't my stop. Where is this?"

"You're in a Pullman sleeping car, on a train heading for Emerson," Mike told her.

"Oh," the ghost said. "You don't say? Well, I'd better be going then. Goodbye, boys!"

With that, she disappeared.

"Well, that takes care of that problem," Mike told the others. "Now, let's try and get some sleep."

"Alright," Davy said. "Goodnight, everybody."

"Yeah, goodnight," Micky said.

They all got settled back into their beds. Peter sneezed.

"Bless you," four voices chorused. Everyone sat back up slightly and froze. They all looked at Mike, who pointed at Davy, Micky, and himself and counted. "One, two three..." He said, eyes wide.

"Who's number four?" Micky asked nervously.

"I'm right here, my boy, don't you see me?" Said a strange voice, coming from nowhere, or, everywhere.

"Oh boy," Mike said. "It's another ghost."

"Of course I am," said the voice. "What else would I be, after becoming dead? That's the way it works, you know."

"Any chance you're the ghost of Christmas Present?" Micky asked nervously.

"Of course not! Why would I be the ghost of Christmas Present, pray tell? No, I am the ghost of Charles Forthwright," said the voice, as another figure materialized in the air. It was a man, about sixty years of age, and he was wearing a pompous sort of brown suit and he had a funny little mustache. "I have haunted this car for twenty years!"

"Twenty years?" Davy asked. "Why twenty years?"

"Because that's how long I've been dead, nitwit!" Charles said.

"Hey, that's a rotten thing to say!" Micky exclaimed.

"I'm a rotten person!" Charles said with a snicker. "Twenty years of decomposing isn't exactly good for your health, you know!"

"So, why are you haunting this car?" Mike asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

"I died in this car, twenty years ago!" Charles said proudly.

"You died in _this_ car!?" Micky asked, his eyes wide. "Yealch! That means one of us is sleeping on the bed you died on!"

Peter let out a low moan. "I do't wadda sleep od a deathbed!"

"It's okay, Peter, calm down," Mike said. "It might not've been your bed. Besides, if it was twenty years ago, the bed's been cleaned, the sheets have been replaced, maybe they even replaced the bed entirely. It doesn't matter which bed he died on."

"It was yours," Charles said to Mike.

"Oh, sweet mother of mercy," Mike said, jumping off of his bed in disgust. "You died on this bed? That's sick, man!"

"You think you have it rough," Charles said defensively. "Imagine what it was like for me!"

"Well, what do you want with us," Davy asked. "Why're you talking to us anyway?"

"It's been so long since I had visitors," Charles said with a sigh. "I just wanted to have someone to talk to, maybe listen to my story."

"Oh, well, that's alright," Micky said. "We can listen to his story, right guys?"

Mike hesitated. "I don't know, Micky," he said. "I mean... He's dead. He shouldn't be able to tell us his story."

"Yeah, dead men tell no tales," Davy said.

"Exactly!" Charles said. "I think that's why they killed me. Only it didn't work, because here I am, talking as if I never died! Hee hee, it's really quite amusing, when you think about it."

"So, wait a minute," Mike said. "Who's "they," and what did they kill you for?"

"Perhaps 'twould be best if I started from the beginning," Charles said.

"Yeah, perhaps it 'twould be," Mike said, sitting on the edge of Davy's bed.

"It all started twenty years ago," Charles said. "I was a prosperous lawyer returning to New York, where my law firm, Locke and Forthwright, was becoming quite profitable."

"Oh, it makes sense now," Mike said. "You were a lawyer. I get it."

Charles sputtered indignantly. "Why," he said. "The impudence! I have never heard the like!"

"Anyway, go on with your story," Micky said.

"Well," Charles went on. "There were two young men traveling with me, my assistant and a client who had been accused of embezzlement."

"Bless you," Micky interrupted.

"I said embezzlement," Charles explained.

"Bless you again," Mike told him.

"I said- Oh never mind," Charles said. "My client had been accused of stealing money from his company."

"Why, that's dreadful!" Davy exclaimed.

"Yes, yes, he thought so too," Charles said. "At any rate, I fell asleep there, in that bed." He pointed at Mike's bed. Mike looked at it and shuddered.

"And then," Charles said. "In the middle of the night, I was rudely awoken by a man wearing a dark hood over his face! He had a rag with him, and he tried to hold it up to my nose. I tried to stop him, but he had the element of surprise, you see, and he held the rag up against my nose. It smelled sweet, and then I got very tired, and the next thing I know, I'm floating around up here, and nobody can see me!"

"But I cad see you dow," Peter pointed out.

"Yes, well, I've had a lot of practice at this sort of thing now," Charles said. "But for the first five years, all I could do was moan a little bit every now and again. That's beside the point, however. The police decided I'd died in my sleep, of old age. Ha! I was merely sixty-two at the time of my death. I was at my prime!"

"If this is what his prime looked like, I'd hate to see when he was down on his luck," Micky muttered to Davy, who chuckled.

"But I know better," Charles said, not having heard the insult. "I was murdered!"

"I'll bet it was that guy who stole money from the bank," Micky said.

"You know, I have a feeling you're right," Charles said. "I just can't prove anything, because the rag was never found."

"Well, what about your testimony?" Micky asked. "You were an eye-witness!"

"My testimony!" The lawyer exclaimed with a guffaw. "My boy, I'm a ghost! I can't leave the place of my death, believe me, I've tried. Besides, without solid evidence, it would be my word against his. And even then, I can't say for certain who it was that killed me. The defense attorney would use that tidbit of information as the basis for his entire case! No, my testimony is good for nothing, I'm afraid."

"You mean whoever the murderer is is still at large?" Mike asked.

"Yes, and he always will be, at this rate," Charles said with a sigh. "But, who are you to be weighed down by the troubles of an old man? Thank you boys for listening to my tale. It was nice to have visitors one last time."

"Wait a minute," Davy said. "What do you mean, one last time?"

"Why, this car is scheduled to be disassembled in the morning. It's on it's way to a factory in Emerson where it will be taken apart, from top to bottom."

"Well, no wonder the tickets were cheap," Mike said.

"I have a question, Charles," Micky said.

"Yes, my boy, what is it?" Charles asked.

"You said the rag was never found," Micky said. "Do you know if the murderer hid it in this car?"

"I believe he did, yes," Charles said. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Micky said. "If this car is going to be disassembled tomorrow, and the rag is still in this car, wouldn't the murderer want to come and get it before it reaches Emerson?"

Everyone looked at him.

"Okay," Mike said. "We've gotta get out of here."

"Not so fast," said a voice. Everyone turned to see a man standing in the doorway, holding a gun and glaring at everyone in the car.

"Donaldson!" Charles said with a gasp. "What are you doing here?"

"Donaldson?" Micky asked. "Is he the bank thief?"

"Not even close," Donaldson said. "I'm Frederick H. Donaldson, Lawyer and head of the prosperous law firm, Locke and Forthwright. But twenty years ago, I was only a lowly assistant, always running errands for this pompous old fool."

"Pompous!?" Charles sputtered. "Fool!? How dare you, Donaldson! You insolent pup! I taught you everything you know!"

"Ha!" Donaldson said. "Hardly! I know quite a bit more than you do, old man! For one, I know that Locke died in a mysterious accident only a year after your death here. For another, I know that I inherited your law firm, and became quite the rich lawyer! And finally, I know that once this car is demolished, you won't be a threat anymore. You'll hit the rock bottom of all the ghosts, you'll become a homeless ghost! Ha! The great and mighty Charles Forthwright, haunting a junk heap!"

Donaldson laughed, and then he settled back down. "Now then," he said. "Let's get down to business. I'm going to get that rag before this car reaches Emerson, and then I'm going to kill the four of you."

"What!?" The Monkees exclaimed.

"Why would you kill us, man?" Mike asked.

"Yeah," said Micky. "What'd we ever do to you?"

"You all know who I am and what I've done," Donaldson said. "It doesn't matter if I'm the greatest, most crooked lawyer in the world. With four live witnesses, I'd never be able to snake my way out of a murder charge. But if I kill the four of you, you'll go straight to being homeless ghosts along with your new neighbor, Mr. Forthwright over here. Now then, all of you, up against the wall."

The four Monkees stood up and walked over to the wall, Peter coughing as he did so.

"Peter, you alright?" Mike asked quietly as Donaldson began to dismantle Peter's bed.

"Yeah," Peter said with a sniff. "Hey Bike?" He said, turning to Mike. "If I die whed I have the flu, do you thik by ghost'll have the flu too?"

"Don't worry about that," Mike said. "Nobody's dying on my watch. I'll figure out a way out of this, don't worry."

"Hey!" Donaldson exclaimed, standing up from where he'd been examining the wall. "Hey, the rag's not here!"

"What!?" Mike asked. "It's not there!?"

"Yeah, I know I left it there," Donaldson said, looking wildly around the room. "Folded up really tight, stuffed in a tiny crack in the wall. But it's not there anymore!"

"Oh..." Peter said, paling slightly.

Donaldson stared at him. "You found it?" He asked in bewilderment. "How did you find it? It's been hidden for twenty years!"

"Well, I doticed the crack id the wall," Peter said. "Ad I woddered what id was doig there, so I looked, ad I foud the handkerchief, ad I deeded to sneeze, so..."

Donaldson looked livid. "Hand it over!" He said, reaching out his hand to Peter. "Hand it over now, or I swear-" He pointed his gun at Peter, but that was as far as he got, because as soon as the gun was raised to point at the blonde, the other three Monkees yelled angrily and moved to defend him.

While the Monkees were usually chicken when it came to situations involving dangerous weapons like guns, all bets were off when it came to defending one of their own. Micky pulled Peter out of the line of fire as Mike wrestled the gun out of Donaldson's hands and Davy tackled him to the ground.

"Let's go," Mike said, pulling Davy to his feet before Donaldson had a chance to figure out what happened, let alone get back up to fight. The four of them ran out of the car as behind them, Donaldson let out an angry roar and Charles yelled for them to run, run, and don't look back.

That's exactly what the Monkees did, running from car to car, trying to get as much distance between Donaldson and themselves that they possibly could.

Finally, they stopped running and moved to hide. Mike found an empty bed in one of the more public sleeper cars, and the four of them climbed up and hid, drawing the curtains closed behind them.

"Hey, Peter doesn't look so good," Micky whispered worriedly. Mike looked over at Peter, who was panting and slightly red faced. He put his hand up to feel Peter's forehead.

"Yeah, he's got a fever," Mike said. "Let's just hope Donaldson doesn't find us."

They heard the car door open, and Donaldson came stomping in. Davy peeked out of the curtains. "He's not really searching," he whispered. "He's just going on to the next car."

Mike and Micky breathed a sigh of relief. Peter sneezed. All four of them froze.

"He's coming!" Davy whispered, backing away from the curtain.

"I'b sorry," Peter whispered in horror as Donaldson's footsteps grew louder.

"It's all right, Pete," Mike whispered. "You couldn't help it."

"Aha!" Donaldson cried, pulling back the curtain. "I've found you!"

"Don't murder us, please!" Micky begged. "I want to live! I want to live! I don't wanna be a homeless ghost! Oh, cruel world!"

"Shut up, kid," Donaldson hissed. "You wanna wake up the whole car!?"

The Monkees looked at each other.

"Hey! There's a murderer over here," Davy yelled, leaning out of the bed and pointing at Donaldson. "He's got a gun, and he's trying to kill us!"

"He's a lawyer," Micky called out at the same time. "He's a lawyer with a gun, and he's gonna kill us all!"

"Help us, help us, gun, pointing," Mike said, almost disinterestedly, barely heard over the sound of Davy and Micky.

"He's gonna shoot us, if you don't call for security," Davy was yelling.

"He's a dangerous criminal, he's already murdered before," Micky called out.

"Shoot, kill, he's gonna shoot, he's got a gun, it's pointing, at us, oh help us," Mike kept rambling, sounding almost bored.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Demanded a guard, coming in at the sounds of the shouting people, for the boys had been joined in their efforts by a few other people who had woken at the sound and began screaming when they saw the guy with the gun.

"Officer, officer," Davy said as everyone quieted down. "It's this guy, his name is Frederick Donaldson and he's a murderer!"

"The famous lawyer?" The guard asked in surprise. "Are you sure you boys caught the right man?"

"Yeah, he's the right man alright," Mike said. "He admitted it to us and then he chased us all the way here with a gun, threatening to kill us."

"Ad I'b got the handkerchief right here," Peter added, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to the officer.

"Well, what do you know," the guard said, examining the handkerchief. "This has your initials on it, Mr. Donaldson. F. H. D. embroidered on the corner, right here."

"Oh," Donaldson cringed. "I knew I should have come back years ago. That's what you get for procrastinating."

"Mr. Donaldson, you're under arrest," the guard said, handcuffing the lawyer's hands behind his back. "You're gonna need a good lawyer."

He turned to the Monkees before leading Donaldson away. "Thank you boys," he said. "You've helped catch a crooked lawyer and you solved a twenty year old train mystery."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Davy said. "We're just glad we were able to help."

"You said it," Mike said. "Now, let's go back to bed. All this excitement's tired me out, and I'm sure Peter needs all the rest he can get."

Turning to Peter, they saw that the blonde had fallen asleep right where he was, exhausted from the chase and the fright, and still sick to boot. Mike hated to wake him up, but they had to get back to their car.

Once they got there, Charles let out a long sigh of relief and wiped his forehead with his hand. "Oh, thank goodness you're safe," he said. "I tried to stall him when he got up, but he just ran right through me! It was quite a strange sensation, let me tell you!"

"Yeah, well, the police caught him," Mike said. "He'll be going straight to jail the moment this train pulls into the station."

"Oh, what a relief!" Charles said. "After twenty years, to know that my killer is getting justice, why, I feel like a live man again!"

"Hey, sorry about your car getting dismantled in the morning," Micky said. "What are you going to do once you get to that junkyard?"

"Oh, I won't be going there," Charles said. "Now that you've caught my murderer, I can finally move on to the next life. In fact, I only stuck around this long to thank you boys. So, thank you!"

With that, the ghost of Charles Forthwright disappeared, never to haunt the sleeping car again.

"Boy, I'm glad that's over," Davy said. "How's Peter?"

Mike looked over at Peter, who had fallen asleep on his bed the moment they got in the car.

"He's asleep now," Mike said. "So, providing we don't have any more mishaps on the rest of this trip, he should be feeling much better in the morning."

"That's good," Micky said. "Now, I don't know about you guys, but I feel like I could sleep for hours. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Micky," Davy said with a yawn. "I'm pretty tired myself. Good night, Mike."

The two boys climbed into their beds and fell asleep almost instantly.

Mike sighed and looked at his bed. He just couldn't get over the fact that Charles had died in it, despite the fact that they weren't the same sheets, or possibly even the same bunk.

Taking his pillow, he laid down on the ground of the car. He was so tired, it didn't even feel that uncomfortable.

"Good night, guys," He said to the sleeping Monkees around him. Then he drifted off to sleep himself.


	8. The City that Wouldn't Give Up

_Author's notes: This chapter turned out much, much differently than I had originally planned. Originally, my idea for this chapter was that arriving in Scranton, the Monkees run into a very familiar face, the girl from Vegas that was in love with Micky's money. She was going to recognize Micky as Magic Fingers, and was going to tell them that she had become a Good Guy, codenamed Agent Psychedelic Llama, and she wanted their help in breaking up a Black Rose Gang gambling operation. The chapter was going to be titled "Back Home in Scranton," because Micky told her in that episode that he was from Scranton. But when I got settled down to write out the chapter, I did some research on Scranton, like I research every town I write about. I loved the history of Scranton so much, that this story just sort of happened on its own, and I like the way it turned out. So, enjoy!_

* * *

Mike had been right; Peter felt much better in the morning, although he still was a bit tired and would cough hoarsely every now and again.

After a quick breakfast, they took another train from Emerson, ending up in Scranton at around lunch time.

"Gee, this is exciting," Peter said, looking around Scranton. "We're so close to Connecticut, this'll probably be our last stop before we get there!"

"I hope so," Mike said. "This trip has been one disaster after another. I can't wait to get to a real house where we can settle in for awhile."

"Hey, what's up with this city?" Micky asked as the group walked down the street. "Most of these buildings are boarded up."

"There was a huge mine disaster around eight or nine years ago," Peter said. "Put thousands of people out of work. Everything sort of went downhill from there. It was a real shame, Scranton was a pretty impressive city."

"Sounds like you know the place well," Mike noted.

Peter nodded. "We used to live here, before we moved to Connecticut when I was eight," He said. "Still came down to visit Gran sometimes for holidays."

"Hey, that's neat," Micky said. "Does she still live here? We could stop by for a visit!"

"Nah," Peter said. "She moved out after the disaster. Now she lives up in Rochester, she runs a small dress shop. The clothing business is doing good in Rochester, down here in Scranton, however... Not so much."

"Yeah, I see," Davy said, looking at all the abandoned shops and buildings.

"But you should've seen this place before," Peter said. "It was called the electric city, you know. There was a huge sign, you could see it from Gran's back porch. It would light up at night, like a beacon or something. When I was little, it always reminded me of fireworks."

"That sounds really groovy," Mike said, smiling at Peter's excitement. It felt like they were getting a glimpse into their friend's past, a picture of his life before the Monkees.

"Hey, Pete, you should take us to see your old house!" Micky suggested excitedly.

Peter smiled sadly. "It's not there anymore," he said.

"What'd'you mean, not there?" Davy asked, puzzled.

"Well," Peter explained. "After the mine disaster, the tunnels under the city were left to rot. Sometimes, there would be a cave in. Whole neighborhoods would collapse into the ground. My old neighborhood was one of them. Mom read it in the papers and wrote me about it."

"Man, Peter, I'm sorry," Mike said.

Peter smiled. "It's okay," he said. "It was just an old empty house. It's not like we still lived there or anything. Imagine what would have happened if we never moved to Connecticut!"

"Yeah, no kidding!" Micky said, looking around at the large but empty city. "Wow..."

"What?" Peter asked.

Micky chuckled. "Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking... if your family hadn't moved to Connecticut, you might not have decided to go on that crazy road trip in the first place. Than you would've never ended up in California, and we wouldn't have met you at all."

"Man, that's a really strange thought," Mike said with a slight frown. "Never meeting Peter. I can't even imagine that."

"Yeah, and then I wouldn't have ever met the two of you, either," Micky said, turning to Mike and Davy. "Peter's the one who got me into playing the drums. If we hadn't formed that act together, we never would have met you at that crazy gig!"

"That _is_ weird," Davy said. "Never meeting you two? Never being the Monkees? That just seems almost wrong!"

"Hey, I'm hungry," Peter changed the subject, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and a little bit of fear at the idea of never having met the Monkees. "Come on, there's this diner that used to be open a few blocks from here. I want to see if it's still there!"

With that, the group walked down the street, following as Peter led the way, talking about this or that place as they walked.

Upon reaching the diner, Peter smiled, seeing that it was, in fact, still open.

"Mom used to know the owner," he said. "His name was Joe, he was a groovy guy. He would give me free cookies whenever we ate here."

He pushed the door open and went inside, the others following close behind him. The diner was a clean, nice little place, although the decor was around ten years old. The tiles were black and white squares, there were red booths on the sides and there was a red counter along one side, there was an old milkshake machine behind the counter, and a jukebox against one wall. The diner was empty except for a young man sitting on one of the stools at the counter, reading a newspaper and listening to an Elvis Presley record play from the jukebox.

"Excuse me," Peter said, walking up to the man, who was wearing a red apron and a nametag that read Bobby. "I haven't been here in awhile, do you know if Joe Bosco still owns this place?"

Bobby looked at the group and smiled. "Yeah, he does," he said. "He's in the back. I'll go get him, if you'd like."

"That'd be great, thanks," Peter said.

"Can I get you guys a soda or something, while I'm back there?" Bobby asked, standing up.

Peter looked at Mike, who nodded. "Yeah, we've got some extra money," he said. "I think that'd be fine."

"Thanks," Peter said before turning back to Bobby. "Do you still make chocolate sodas?" he asked.

Bobby smiled, but shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "We had to stop making those a few years back. But I can get you a cherry-cola."

The Monkees all looked at each other and nodded. "That'd be great," Mike said. "Four cherry-colas, please."

With that, Bobby went into the kitchen in the back of the diner.

After a few moments, he returned, carrying a tray of sodas and followed by a man who looked to be around forty-five years of age. He was bald on top, but he had a salt-and-pepper mustache and a bit of hair growing on the back of his head, and he had kind eyes.

"Hello, Joe," Peter said with a smile. "Do you remember me?"

Joe started and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he pointed at Peter. "Dylan Bolinski?" He asked.

Peter smiled even bigger. "No, but you're close," he said.

Joe clapped his hands together. "Little Peter Tork!" He said, grinning. "I can't believe it! That is you, under all that hair, isn't it?"

Peter nodded. "It's nice to see you too, Joe," he said. "How's life treatin' ya?"

"Oh, you know, business as usual," Joe said, but Mike noticed he seemed a little tired as he said it. "But enough about me. Aren't you gonna introduce me to your friends?"

"Oh yeah," Peter said, turning to the others. "Joe, I'd like you to meet Michael Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, and Davy Jones."

"Davy Jones!?" Joe said jovially. "You mean like the guy with the locker?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't inherit the locker until he's 25," Micky quipped, reusing an old joke.

Joe laughed. "I like your friends, Peter," he said. "Say, we've been having a slow day today, and we haven't been selling these anyway," he said, pulling a tray of cookies from a counter behind him. "How would you boys like a cookie, on the house?"

"Thanks, Mr. Bosco," Mike said, reaching for a cookie.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Joe said, pulling it out of reach. "No Mr. Bosco around here. My name is Joe. Got it?"

Mike smiled. "Got it," He said.

"There we go," Joe said, holding the plate out in front of him again.

"Thanks Joe," they all said as they each grabbed a cookie.

"You know," Joe said to Mike, Davy and Micky. "Your pal Peter over here used to come in here all the time with his mother," he said. "And I always gave him a free cookie, just like I did just now."

"Yeah, he told us," Davy said with a smile.

"Well, did he ever tell you what happened one day when one of his friends saw Peter get a free cookie and he didn't?"

"No, he didn't say anything about that," Mike said, taking a sidelong glance at Peter, who was smiling sheepishly and staring at his cherry-cola.

"Well," Joe said. "His friend tried to take it from him, they always were scrappy little rugrats. So Peter shoves the whole thing in his mouth before the other boy can get at it."

"Really?" Micky asked. "Well, that was a cute little story. Anticlimactic, maybe, but-"

"Oh, it wasn't finished yet," Joe said. "Dylan began to yell that it wasn't fair, and he told Peter here that he wanted a free cookie, too, and unless Peter got him a free cookie, he wouldn't be friends with him anymore."

"A little harsh, don't you think?" Davy asked.

"What can I say, they were seven year old boys," Joe said, shrugging. "But that's what he said. Well, Peter got him his free cookie, all right. Learned a lesson, too. If you swallow a cookie whole, you're gonna have to choke it back up."

"You mean..." Mike asked, looking at Peter in surprise.

"Yep," Joe said. "Spit the whole thing all over Dylan's jacket. The kid didn't mind much, after the first bit of shock wore off. That jacket had a stain on the front for as long as he had it."

"That's... kind of gross, actually," Davy said.

Joe laughed. "Yeah," he said. "You bet it was. But, money was tight back then. You were grateful for what you had, and Dylan got his wish. He always got a free cookie himself when he came in after that, often bringing Peter in tow. Those two boys were inseparable."

"I remember," Peter said, smiling. "We used to run around this town as if it was our own backyard. He used to get me into all kinds of trouble."

"Yeah, you bet he did," Joe said. "Peter, did you ever tell your friends about the time you burned down the schoolhouse?"

"You did what!?" The other Monkees exclaimed, staring at Peter, who blushed furiously and chuckled.

"It wasn't like that," he said. "It was an accident. And Dylan did most of it anyway. I was just an innocent bystander."

"Tell us the story, man," Mike said, already feeling the corners of his mouth turn up.

"Well," Peter said. "I guess..."

"Come on, Peter, it's a good story," Joe said. "And it's one that should be told, although it can be hard to hear for the first time."

Now the others were even more curious, and they looked at Peter expectantly.

"Okay, I'll tell it," Peter said, still red in the face. "One day after school, Dylan told me he wanted to show me something in the basement. We weren't allowed to go into the basement, and I told him that, but he said he was going to go whether I followed or not, and I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I followed him down to try and keep him out of as much of it as I could."

"Didn't work too well, though," Joe interrupted. "Tell 'em what Dylan wanted to show you."

"When we got down there, he showed me to a box in the corner, and when he opened it, I saw that it was full of fireworks."

"Oh no..." Mike said, easily imagine what two seven year old boys could do with a box of fireworks.

"Dylan wanted to set them off," Peter said with a smile. "But I told him not to. He never listened to me, however, so he picked up the box with every intention of carting them off to an old field in our neighborhood. He never made it that far, however."

"Why, what happened?" Micky asked, sitting on the edge of his seat.

"Dylan spotted something else interesting," Peter said, his smile fading away. "We didn't know what they were at the time. But the repair man had just been in to see the furnace, and he left a few things behind."

"That repair man never got another job in Scranton again," Joe interrupted with a growl. "Once everything was found out, he lost all his business and had to leave town."

"What did he leave?" Mike asked, half guessing at the answer.

"He left a half-empty bottle and a half-used cigar," Peter said. "My mom always told me never to trust anything you put in your mouth unless it came from someone you knew. Dylan's mom told him the same thing, but for him, telling him not to try something was practically the same thing as waving a treat in front of his face. Of course he tried both. He tried the cigar first, he'd seen other people smoke before, so he knew how to light it. Started coughing up a storm, threw the thing down on the floor like it was a snake or something."

"As it could very well have been, to a seven year old boy!" Joe said.

"He assumed that the bottle was filled with water," Peter said. "So he gulped a good portion of it down before he realized it wasn't water. Spit it out all over the floor, and threw the bottle down too. Well, it broke, and the alcohol went everywhere. Unfortunately, it managed to pool around both the lit cigar and the box of fireworks."

"You're kidding," Micky said, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

"Nope," Peter said. "I wish I was. I noticed pretty quickly when the stuff from the bottle caught on fire. Me and Dylan made a break for it. I wasn't expecting the fireworks, however."

"Nobody was expecting the fireworks," Joe put in. "The teacher was still there, and a few of the other kids were hanging around the schoolyard. All they knew was there was a bunch of loud bangs, like gunshots, and then the building was on fire."

"Somebody had the good sense to phone the police," Peter said. "And then the fire department. By the time they showed up, the building was blazing. They tried their best to save it, but it was no use."

"Were you hurt?" Mike asked, feeling his big brother instincts kick in, despite the incident having happened years ago.

"We both got out relatively unscathed," Peter said. "A few minor burns here and there, and Dylan got a good sized bruise on his arm where he was hit with a loose rock that fell, but we were pretty lucky considering the damage to the building."

"The townspeople got together and built a new school," Joe said. "And the first lesson they taught in it was fire safety, and some of the dangers of alcohol and smoking. I remember Dylan's mom hoped that this adventure might teach Dylan to be more cautious after that, but it was barely a week and he was getting into trouble again."

"And I always went right along with him," Peter said. "Sometimes I could keep him out of bad situations, and sometimes I just got dragged along for the ride."

"Sounds like this kid was a bad influence on you," Davy said. "Your mom let you play with him without raising any fuss?"

"Honestly, she was friends with Dylan's mom," Peter said. "I think they rather hoped I would influence him, not the other way around. It sort of worked, sometimes."

"Tell them about the fight," Joe prompted.

Peter laughed. "Dylan was angry at this group of boys for some reason, I can't remember what they did," he said. "So he decided they should be punished. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was set. They needed to learn their lesson. Finally, I convinced him to at least come up with a strategy instead of attacking them head on."

"They snuck into my store when I was busy," Joe said. "Stole a bucket of ice."

"I told you, Dylan told me he paid for it," Peter said sheepishly. "Anyway, we knew they were going to be at the basketball courts, so we went up onto the roof of an old building across the street from there. When they showed up, Dylan started pelting them with ice, he was an expert with a slingshot."

Micky laughed. "You shot them with ice!?" He asked incredulously.

"No," Peter said. "Dylan did. My job was to watch the door, make sure no one came up to stop us."

"Did you?" Mike asked.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I watched it," he said. "But then Dylan yelled that we'd been spotted and we needed to make a break for it, so we ran down through the building and tried to get away before they caught us."

"Did it work?" Davy asked.

"Not even sort of," Peter said. "We barely made it half a block. Then they caught us."

"How'd you get out of it?" Micky said breathlessly.

"We didn't," Peter said. "That was one of the times that _he_ rubbed off on _me _a little. At first, I tried to just stay out of the way, Dylan had a knack for talking us out of anything. But then one of them hit him, and I got mad. So I hit him back."

The others stared at him, stunned. Peter, hit somebody? It was unheard of!

"Nobody'd ever taught Peter to punch, though," Joe said with a chuckle. "He broke his thumb doing it."

Mike smiled, now _that _sounded more like Peter.

"After that, it was a full on fight," Peter said. "Dylan was a little spitfire, as soon as he realized I was hurt, even though it was my own fault, he was furious. Those boys never knew what hit 'em. We were both bruised all over the place and scratched up pretty bad after that, but the other boys were even more scratched up than we were. Dylan was always a fan of biting."

"He _bit _them?" Davy exclaimed, partially in amazement, partially in disgust.

"Yeah, several times each," Peter said.

"The police showed up soon enough," Joe said. "Rounded up all five of the rugrats and hauled 'em off to the jailhouse, didn't lock 'em up, but kept 'em in sight and called everybody's parents."

"Mom wasn't too happy when she got the call," Peter said. "But she was more worried than mad. Took me to see a doctor about my thumb, then grounded me and wouldn't let me play with Dylan for a week. Dylan's mom gave him the same punishment."

"But Dylan didn't take that sitting down," Joe said. "He waited until Peter's mom was at work, then he went and distracted the babysitter by letting a mouse in the kitchen and ran around back to sneak into Peter's bedroom window."

"He scared me half to death before I realized who it was," Peter said. "Then I tried to tell him to go home before we both got in trouble. But he insisted that we wouldn't get caught, and told me all about his plans for revenge on the three boys we were fighting."

"He didn't give up, did he?" Micky said.

"Nope," Peter said with a laugh. "Now he had a new idea for revenge. See, I guess he managed to spill some lemon juice on one of his cuts at home, probably messing around in the refrigerator when he wasn't supposed to."

"Oh no..." Mike said. He knew where this was going.

"The rascal stole all my lemon juice later that morning," Joe said.

"That's where he got it?" Peter asked, turning to Joe in surprise. "He wouldn't tell me whose it was."

"Probably decided you'd put your foot down if you knew he'd stolen twice from the same place in one adventure," Joe said.

"Well, at any rate, he had a big bucket full of lemon juice outside my window, along with several sponges," Peter said. "He tried to convince me to come with him and throw them at the boys, but I said I wouldn't go."

"Good for you, Pete," Micky said.

"Then he left to go do it by himself, and I got worried," Peter said. "I climbed out of my window and followed him. I caught up with him before he did it, and tried to talk him out of it."

"But he didn't stop?" Mike asked.

"Actually, he considered it," Peter said. "Unfortunately, the other three boys had seen us coming, and it was too late to back down. They ran at us, and Dylan managed to slow one of them down by throwing the sponges. One of them made a grab for the bucket, and Dylan fought to get it back. That's when they tripped over one of the sponges and the whole thing went flying. All five of us got covered in lemon juice."

"Ouch," Davy said as all three boys (and Bobby) winced in sympathy.

"Yeah, it wasn't very fun," Peter said. "Finally learned his lesson then. He didn't get into any trouble for a whole month."

"You two boys were the town terrors," Joe said with a snicker. "We had our share of problems, every city does. Gangs, parties, trouble-making teenagers... but nothing compared to the two of you."

"Who would've thought that two seven year old boys could get into so much trouble?" Peter said, smiling. "Hey, whatever happened to Dylan?"

Joe sighed. "His family moved out of town a few years after yours did," He said. "Never saw him again. But let me tell you, he was just as troublesome at ten as he was at seven. Maybe even more so, since you weren't around to hold him back."

"I hope he's doing well for himself," Peter said. "I haven't thought about him in a long time."

"I'm sure he's doing fine," Mike said. "From the sounds of things, he wasn't the type to give up on what he wanted, even if he was outnumbered."

"Boy, you got that right," Joe said. "Peter, do you remember the time..."

And so they continued, Joe and Peter reminiscing and telling stories of Peter's time in Scranton, while they ate some lunch at the diner.

* * *

The group laughed hysterically as Bobby recounted one of his own childhood tales. In the hour since they had arrived, the four musicians had hit it off quite well with the young man, and so the six people in the diner were having a great time just talking.

That was when the water in their glasses started to ripple, and they heard a very slight rumbling, getting louder by the second.

Everyone froze, story time over.

"What was that?" Mike asked quietly.

Joe was pale. "It... it sounded like a cave in!" He said.

"A cave in!?" Bobby exclaimed. "But... we haven't had a cave in for almost two years!"

"Well..." Joe said. "Then I suppose it's about time we had another one!"

"What should we do!?" Mike asked, trying to keep calm as the other three looked to him for the answers.

"It doesn't sound too close to here," Joe said, moving out from behind the counter. "You boys are from California, right?" The Monkees nodded. "Okay then, here's what we're going to do: We're gonna treat it like any old earthquake. We go out to the nearest open area, which, in this case, is the middle of the street, and we hope that cave in is far enough away and our roof is still on top of the building once it's all over."

With that, he ushered the five of them out of the diner and out into the middle of the street, where they were joined by several other people who were vacating their own buildings.

The ground continued to shake for awhile, but eventually, it calmed down and all the people nearby looked at each other, each of them asking silent questions. Where had it happened this time? Had there been much damage? Had anybody been hurt? Had anybody they _knew_ been hurt? Was it safe to go looking for them now?

Little by little, the small crowd dispersed, some of them returning to their buildings, some of them taking off to go ask around for news, some of them in search of a telephone to call their families. Joe and Bobby began walking back to the diner.

"That- that was scary," Micky said, worry over his face. "I mean, I've dealt with earthquakes, but cave ins? That's something else entirely!"

"No kidding," Peter said, looking around at the buildings. "But, I guess if they've got it handled, it's all the same to them. We get earthquakes, they get cave ins. They're all natural disasters in a way."

Mike nodded grimly, as they made their way after Joe and Bobby.

"Hey man," he said to Joe, who was picking up overturned salt and pepper shakers and wiping up spilled water. "If there's anything we can do to help, our train doesn't leave for another half-hour..."

"Thank you boys," Joe said, looking tired. "But you've already helped more than you know. Everybody keeps going away, you see. Some left before the disaster, thousands left afterwards, and now, every few weeks it seems, another shop gets boarded up, another house gets left behind. This used to be a beautiful city, big and bustling, with people everywhere you looked. Good people. Now... we're turning into a ghost town."

He sighed, and then he let out a small chuckle. "The only people left are the people like Bobby and I," he said. "The people who aren't willing to let anything stop us from restoring this place to its former glory. The odds are against us, yeah. We keep hitting more obstacles. But no matter how many times we get knocked down, we're gonna keep standing back up. We're gonna keep fighting for Scranton, until we win, and the electric city will light up once again."

The Monkees all felt moved by this. "That was beautiful," Micky squeaked.

Joe laughed. "Well," he said. "I'm glad you boys came by today, even if you aren't planning on staying. It's always nice to see a familiar face. You keep fighting, Peter. You boys just keep on fighting 'til you get what you're looking for."

"Thank you, Joe," Mike said solemnly. "And you do the same."

They all settled into silence as they moved to clean up the diner, every once in awhile someone would come in with news, it had been a small cave in, no one had been severely hurt, there was minimal damage, all those sorts of things.

* * *

As the Monkees waved goodbye to Joe and Bobby and boarded the train, they watched the town go about its business, and although they were definitely excited about their next and final stop, they couldn't help but feel sad and at the same time, encouraged by Scranton, the city that wouldn't give up.


	9. Kent's Just Full of Surprises

_Author's notes: I like how this chapter turned out, athough it's much longer than I expected it to be. I just want to say, every member of Peter's family is an OC, any similarity to persons real or fictional is unintentional._

_A little something about Peter's mother, Polly, she says in the fic that her parents named her after Pollyanna. The first Monkees song I ever heard was "I'm a Believer," and I heard it on a commercial for the Hayley Mills version of Pollyanna on VHS tape. Of course, I didn't know at the time who was singing it, I didn't discover the Monkees until several years later. But, I always liked that song, the thirty seconds of it that I'd heard on the commercial. lol, I guess I was a fan of the Monkees long before I knew who they were._

* * *

Peter was so excited by the time the train pulled in to the station in Kent, Connecticut that he was driving the others crazy.

As they walked through the station to the street outside, it was all the three others could do to stop Peter from crashing into everything in the station. Successfully managing to steer him out into the open air, they called for a taxi and shoved all their luggage into the trunk before piling into the back seat.

"Where to?" The cabby said disinterestedly.

"102 Locust Lane, please," Peter said excitedly, as the four of them tried to untangle themselves and each find a seat.

When the cabby started the car, Peter jumped, his nerves on edge from his excitement, and hit his head on the roof of the car.

"Calm down, Peter," Mike said for the eighth time that hour. "You're worse than Micky after he drinks his chewable coffee!"

"I'm sorry," Peter said with a grin, rubbing his head. "I'm just so excited, I haven't been to Kent in years. I wonder how much has changed. Do you think Marissa will like me? I hope she likes me. Ooh, look out the window! That's the school I used to go to. I wonder how different it is now. I can't wait to get to the house, I can't wait to see mom again! You guys are gonna love her, just wait. I think it looks like it might rain. Do you think it's gonna rain?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Mike said. "Now please, sit still, before you fall out of the car."

Peter continued to prattle and fidget throughout the short car ride, and the others tuned him out. So when the Cabby announced that they were at 102 Locust Lane, they piled out without much thought, and it took a few seconds before it registered in Mike's head that he'd just heard Peter ask the cabby to point out which house it was.

"Peter, don't you remember what it looks like?" He asked incredulously as Peter thanked the cabby and climbed out of the car.

"Of course not, I haven't seen it yet," Peter said, as if it were obvious.

"But... I though you'd lived here in Kent since you were eight," Davy said, confusion lining his face.

"We didn't live in _this _house," Peter said, looking up at a nice yellow house with a picket fence and a flower garden. "We moved around a lot. By the time I left, we'd lived in five different houses here in Kent. They've only lived in this house for about six years."

"Oh," Mike said, picking up his guitar case. "I guess that makes sense. Alright, let's get all our stuff and head up."

As the others gathered their things, Mike walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

After a moment, the front door opened and a rather friendly looking woman looked out at Mike with a smile.

"Hello," He said. "I'm Michael Nesmith. This is the Tork residence, right?"

"Oh dear, no it isn't," The woman said, slightly embarrassed. "This is the Bessetti residence."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mike said, as the others came up behind him. "Guys we, have the wrong address," he said.

"No we don't," Peter said in confusion before grinning up at the woman. "Hi mom!" He said.

"Peter!" She said with a grin, stepping out and giving him a huge hug. "Oh, it's been so long since I saw you! Look at you, you haven't changed at all! Well, your hair is longer, when was the last time you got it cut?"

"Mom!" Peter said reproachfully, pulling away.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's your life, your decision. So, are these your friends?"

"Yep," Peter said, smiling at the others. "Mom, this is Micky Dolenz-"

Peter's mom folded the unsuspecting drummer into a huge hug. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you," she said. "Thank you so much for taking Peter in all those years ago! I was so worried about him, you don't know how glad I was when he wrote me that he'd finally settled down and found a place to live!"

"No problem," Micky grunted breathlessly. "Best decision I ever made... Can't breathe!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, releasing him. Micky stepped back a few steps and gasped for breath.

"This is Davy Jones," Peter continued, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"Oh, the one who gets all the girls," Peter's mom said, causing Davy to sputter and Micky to snicker as she pulled the Brit into another tight hug. Pulling away, she looked him over. "He's not _too _short," she said to Peter, who turned red as Micky laughed.

"And this is Mike Nesmith," Peter said, changing the subject.

Mike braced himself, expecting the hug. As she squeezed the life out of him, he was reminded of a boa constrictor that would tighten itself around it's victim until the poor thing was strangled.

He gasped for breath after she released him, and then he voiced his confusion from earlier.

"But, earlier you said this wasn't the Tork residence," he said. "Are you subletting this house or something, Mrs. Tork?" Mike asked.

Peter's mom let out a light laugh. "No, we're not subletting," she said, glancing at Peter. "I guess Peter didn't tell you..."

"I didn't?" Peter asked, more to himself than to anyone else. "Huh. I guess it never came up."

"Told us what?" Micky asked, looking from Peter to his mom in confusion.

"First off, I'm not Mrs. Tork," Peter's mom said. "I haven't been a Tork in a long time."

Mike looked at Micky and Davy, their bewilderment matching his own.

"You mean... you're... divorced?" Davy asked.

"Oh no, nothing like that," Peter's mom said. "My first husband, Samuel Tork, died in an accident before Peter was born."

"What!?" Micky exclaimed, looking wildly at Peter, who nodded.

"It's true," he said simply. "I never met him."

None of the Monkees knew what to say. They all looked at their friend awkwardly as his mom continued her explanation.

"I met Howard Bessetti when Peter was eight," she said. "We married and moved to Kent to start a new life together. We didn't have enough money for Howie to officially adopt Peter, so he kept his last name. Besides, I think it's important for a child to remember his heritage, so I'm not sure we would have changed it anyway."

"I'm glad, too," Peter said. "I can't imagine being called Peter Bessetti. It just doesn't fit me right."

"No kidding," Micky said, getting over his initial shock. "Man, Peter, I'm sorry..."

"That's okay, Micky," Peter said, frowning. "Um... what are you sorry for again?"

"You know," Micky said. "About... about your dad."

"Oh, well, don't worry about that," Peter said with a smile. "Like I said, I never knew him. Besides, Howie's been a great step-dad. I couldn't have asked for a better one."

"He always was good to Peter," Mrs. Bessetti said with a smile. "That was one reason I liked him. He knew I came with a family and he respected that."

"Well, then, um," Mike cleared his throat, still surprised by this turn of events. "Can- can we come in?"

"Oh!" Mrs. Bessetti exclaimed, covering her mouth. "Of course you can, how silly of me, keeping you boys standing around out here! Come on in, make yourselves at home!"

She grabbed one of the boxes holding Micky's drums and led the way into the house.

"Isn't she great?" Peter said, grinning at the others before following her.

"I didn't know that about Peter's dad," Micky said quietly at Mike and Davy's questioning glances after Peter was out of earshot. "He never really brought it up, and I never thought to ask him..."

"That's alright," Mike said. "We know now. Let's just try and get settled in."

They carried their things into the house, and Mrs. Bessetti led them to the guest bedroom. "I'm afraid we only have one extra bed," she said. "But there's also a recliner and I found two sleeping bags, I'll let you all decide who sleeps where."

They looked around the room, it was small, but decorated nicely, with light colors on the walls to make it seem more spacious. A small window overlooked the back yard, and a pot of sunflowers sat on the empty dresser.

"After you're settled in, come on into the kitchen," Mrs. Bessetti said. "I've got home-made caramel apples all ready for you, and I want to get to know you boys a little before Marissa gets home from preschool."

"Thanks, Mrs. Bessetti," Mike said. Mrs. Bessetti laughed.

"Please," she said. "Call me Polly. I was named after Pollyanna."

"Pollyanna!?" Micky exclaimed. "You mean, like Hayley Mills?"

Polly laughed. "Yeah, like Hayley Mills," she said. "I was the first to see that movie when it came out, although my parents named me after the Mary Pickford version."

"I see," Micky said.

With that, Polly left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"So, who's going to get the bed?" Micky said, pointedly looking at Peter.

"Micky," the blonde said reproachfully. "I don't mind sleeping on the ground, really, I don't."

"Now, Peter, this is your special trip," Mike said, putting his arm around Peter. "You should have the bed."

"But if this is my special trip, than you guys should get something special too," Peter insisted. "One of you can have the bed."

"I CALL ONE OF THE SLEEPING BAGS!" Micky yelled gleefully, picking up a green one and unrolling it. "Gosharoony, this is so soft! It's like a big green marshmallow! Feel it, Mike!"

He held the sleeping bag up to Mike, who felt the side. "Ooh!" He said, eyes widening. "That is soft! I want the other one!" He leaned over and picked up the other one, which was blue.

"Fine," Peter said. "You can have the bed, Davy."

"Oh, don't worry about me," Davy said from where he was sitting on the recliner. "This is just like a bed with a built in pillow. It's almost even more comfortable than my bed at the pad!"

Peter sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You guys are all ganging up on me," He said. "I never win this argument. Why do I even try?"

"I've been wondering that for years," Micky said, putting the sleeping bag back down. "Now that we've got that decided, let's go get those caramel apples."

* * *

They had all been talking with Polly for about an hour, eating caramel apples as they talked, when the door opened and a man came in, carrying a little girl on his back, piggyback style.

"Hi, Howie!" Peter said, standing up with a smile. Howie (For that's who it was) Stopped walking, and grinned at Peter.

"Peter!" He said. "It's so good to see you! Come give ol' Howie a hug, why don't you?"

He lowered the little girl to the floor and gave Peter a hug before turning to the rest of the Monkees.

"And these must be those crazy musicians you live with," he said.

"Hello, Mr. Bessetti," Mike said, standing up and shaking Howie's hand. "I'm Michael Nesmith, this is Davy Jones, and that's Micky Dolenz."

"Nice to meet you, Mike-and-Ike, Sailor, Micky Mouse," Howie said, much to the bewilderment of Mike, Davy, and Micky.

"Oh, don't worry," Peter said. "He does that to everyone."

"Right you are, Peg-leg Pete," Howie said. "And this little lady is Mousie Marissa," he said, putting his hand on the little girl's hair. "Sorry, Micky Mouse, the two of you are gonna have to share a name."

"That's all right," Micky said, grinning at the little girl. She had green eyes, and looking up, he could see she'd gotten them from Howie, but her hair was the exact same shade as Peter's, and Polly's as well. "I'm hoping to be her favorite anyway."

"Hey!" Peter said. "That's not fair! I'm her brother, after all!"

"Yeah, but we're _all_ brothers here, Peg-leg Pete," Micky said jokingly.

"Micky, leave him alone, would'ja? Davy said, although he was smiling himself.

Polly came over and knelt down next to Marissa. "Marissa," she said. "Do you remember I told you your big brother was coming to see you?"

Marissa nodded, looking around excitedly at the four musicians.

"This is your brother," Polly said, pointing at Peter, who smiled.

Marissa grinned up at him. "That's Petah?" She asked. Polly smiled. "Yes," she said. "That's Peter."

"PETAH!" The little girl shrieked, running up and wrapping her arms around his knees.

"Woah!" He said, almost losing his balance but recovering quickly. "Hello, Marissa," he said.

She looked up at him. "Pick me up!" She ordered, holding her arms out to him. Without hesitation, he obeyed. She studied his face.

"I like you," she decided. "You can be my brother."

The other Monkees laughed as Peter grinned. "Thank you," he said. "These are my friends. This is Davy." He pointed at Davy, who smiled. Marissa studied him.

"I like your hair," she said. "It looks just like Meg's!"

Davy blushed as the others all laughed. "Marissa," Polly said between laughs. "That wasn't very nice."

"But Meg has nice hair," Marissa insisted.

"It's alright," Davy said graciously. "Thank you, Marissa."

Peter turned to Micky. "That's Micky," he said. Micky made a funny face and began talking to Marissa with his old toymaker-type accent, making the little girl giggle.

"I like Micky," she told Peter. "He's funny."

Micky beamed.

"Yes he is," Peter said. Then he turned to Mike. "And this is Mike."

"Hello there, Marissa," Mike said, giving her a small smile. "It's nice to meet you."

Marissa cocked her head and studied him for a minute. Mike felt like he was being scrutinized. Finally, she smiled. "You look like a nice person," she informed him. "Will you be my brother too?"

Mike couldn't help it, he smiled down at the sweet face. "Alright," he said. "I'll be your brother."

"That's hardly fair," Davy said. "Micky's the funny one and you get to be her brother, and I just have hair as nice as Meg's?"

"You can be my best friend," Marissa offered. "We can play together and have a tea party and we could do each other's hair."

Poor Davy groaned and put his head in his hands, as the other Monkees roared with laughter.

The doorbell rang just then, and Polly, who was making dinner, asked Howie to answer.

"Aw, I was hoping to read the paper," Howie said, moving to stand up.

"I'll get it," Mike offered.

"Oh, you don't have to..." Howie began, but Mike held up his hand. "Don't worry," he said. "I don't mind at all. It's the least I can do, you've opened your home to all four of us. I can answer the door."

"Alright," Howie said, settling back down with a smile. "Thank you, Mike-and-Ike."

Chuckling quietly to himself, Mike walked through the dining room and into the front hall. Opening the door, he stopped short, stunned by who he saw there.

"Agent Cupcake!?" he exclaimed in shock.

"Wool Hat!?" The man asked in surprise, his own eyes showing bewilderment behind his blue glasses.


	10. The Family Business

_Authors notes: This chapter has a bit more angst than anything else, but don't worry, there will be more fun, adventure, and Marissa cuteness in the next chapter._

* * *

Mike was shocked. What on earth was Agent Cupcake doing here in Connecticut? The last time he'd seen the gang member, he'd been taking a return train to California, to turn important information in to the police.

"What are you doing here?!" Mike demanded.

"Me!?" Agent Cupcake said. "What about you!? I wasn't expecting to ever run into you again!"

"Hey, Mike-and-Ike, who is it?" Howie asked, coming into the hallway. He stopped short when he saw Agent Cupcake, and he glanced nervously towards Mike.

Mike knew what that meant.

"You know Agent Cupcake?" He asked Howie.

Howie looked a little surprised. "_You_ know Agent Cupcake?" He asked back.

Mike nodded. "We ran into him on the train to Abilene," he said.

Howie groaned and put his head in his hands. "Oh, _you_ were the four boys that Agent Pink Rock tried to dupe into carrying the information! I should have known it was too big a coincidence that two groups of four boys rode a train East. When I heard the whole story, I'd hoped that you'd taken a different train, and that someone else had been involved."

"So, wait a minute," Mike said. "If you know all about the train ride, you must be a member of the gang!"

"A member of the gang!" Agent Cupcake exclaimed. "You boys are a magnet for everything you want to stay away from! You're talking to Mr. Best!"

Mike felt the color drain out of his face. "Oh no," he said. "You mean to tell me..."

"That's right, Mike-and-Ike," Howie said. "I'm Mr. Best, head of the Good Guys Gang."

Agent Cupcake seemed to realize he'd created a tense moment, and decided he'd be better off coming back another time.

"I'll just be at the hotel, then," He said to Howie. "Maybe you could give me a call, we'll schedule a meeting."

"Alright," Howie said. "See you later."

"But you seem like such a nice guy!" Mike said, after Agent Cupcake left.

"I am," Howie said, the corners of his mouth turning up. "I'm the best."

"This is no time for jokes, man," Mike implored. "Does Peter know? Wait, I already know the answer to that. Peter has no clue. He'd never heard of the Good Guys Gang until a few days ago. Man, he's gonna be crushed!"

"Now, wait a minute," Howie said defensively. "Why would he be crushed? I know the news'll be a little shocking, I mean, who comes home to visit their family and finds out their dad is a gang leader? But I don't know why it would necessarily have to _crush_ him."

Mike was stunned. "You're a _gang leader_," he said. "Breaking the law is in your job description! You steal, you lie, you cheat people out of their money!"

"Yeah, but we never kill anyone," Howie said.

"But you have no qualms about beating them up," Mike said, almost sarcastically. "Peter hates violence! We don't even let him watch the Three Stooges because it upsets him so much!"

"I was hoping he'd grown out of that," Howie said thoughtfully.

"Well, he didn't," Mike said. "And he also hates lying, and stealing, and blackmail!" Mike put his hand up to his forehead, trying to calm down and think. "What are we going to do?" He asked, more to himself than to Howie.

"Well, I was hoping to tell him sometime this week," Howie said quietly. "If you think I should keep it a secret..."

"No, that would just make things worse if he were to find out later," Mike said. "Man... Why'd you have to go and start a gang anyway?" He demanded, looking at Howie in a mixture of incredulity and disgust.

"It just sort of happened," Howie said honestly. "It all started as a little extra income here and there, and it just sort of snowballed from there."

"Oh, really?" Mike asked sarcastically. "You just accidentally started a national gang here in this small town in Connecticut?"

"Well, my business is run mostly out of Waterbury," Howie said. "Agent Cupcake is my most trusted colleague, he handles most of the front work. I go down to Waterbury on business trips sometimes, and other times he comes down here, and we do our business that way. Then, he's always got a big name boss that nobody ever sees, that he can always refer to, and I've got an alibi here in Kent. It's like you said, who would suspect that a nice old business man in a small community is really a gang leader? It's ingenious!"

"Well, ingenious or not, it's illegal!" Mike said. "And I don't know how on earth you're going to tell Peter." Another thought struck him. "Do Polly and Marissa know?"

Howie nodded. "Yes," He said. "Polly's known the whole time, we don't keep secrets from each other. And Marissa's known for pretty much her whole life, but she knows how to keep a secret. She's such a smart kid."

Howie smiled, thinking of his smart kid. "Man, focus!" Mike said. "When are you going to tell Peter?"

"Tell me what?" Peter asked innocently, walking into the hallway. Mike and Howie both turned to stare at him. "Uh, hey there, Peter," Mike said with a nervous smile.

Peter smiled, confused. "Hi, Mike," he said. "Who was at the door?"

"Oh, just one of my... associates," Howie said. Glancing at Mike, who looked at him pointedly, Howie nervously cleared his throat. "Um, Peter," he said. "I, uh... I have something I need to tell you."

"Oh, okay," Peter said. "What is it?"

"Well, I'd kind of like to tell you in private," Howie said. "Can you come into my office, please?"

"Sure," Peter said, following Howie into a room down the hall. As Howie closed the door, Mike wasn't sure whether to feel relieved, angry, or frightened. As it was, he felt a mixture of both. He felt angry at Howie for being Mr. Best, he felt relieved that Howie was at least telling Peter the truth, even if it was five years later than he would have liked, and he felt frightened for how Peter would respond to the news.

Going into the kitchen, he decided the others needed to know.

"Hey, man," Micky said as Mike came in and sat down. Polly had gone into another room, leaving Marissa behind with Davy and Micky. The drummer was already working to make Marissa like him the most, she was on his lap, giggling as he bounced her up and down on his knee. "Who was at the door?" He asked absently.

Mike hesitated. He'd already decided to tell them, but deciding to do something and going through with it were two totally different things. Taking a deep breath, he decided to just get it over with.

"Agent Cupcake," He said solemnly.

Micky stopped bouncing Marissa on his knee as both he and Davy stared at Mike in shock.

"What!?" Micky asked as Davy frowned.

"You must be joking!" The younger man exclaimed. "What do you mean, Agent Cupcake!?

"Do you think he followed us!?" Micky asked fearfully.

"Sammy's here!?" Marissa asked, looking up at Mike gleefully before climbing down off Micky's knee. "Yay! He always brings me a present!"

As the little girl ran from the kitchen in search of "Sammy," Mike wondered briefly whether Marissa's presents were all stolen items or purchased from stolen money, but shook that thought away to focus on talking to Davy and Micky.

"Agent Cupcake wasn't here for us," he told them. "He was here for Howie."

"What'd he want with Howie?" Davy asked in bewilderment.

Mike swallowed. "Howie's Mr. Best," He said quickly.

Davy and Micky froze.

"...What?" Davy asked him.

Mike nodded. "He admitted it to me. He's Mr. Best. Said he started the Good Guys Gang as a way to make a little extra money, and it snowballed from there."

"Oh, I get it, you're kidding," Micky said with a nervous chuckle. "That's really funny, man. And here I've been saying you don't joke. That's all it is, right? You're just joking, right? There's no way Howie's Mr. Best. There isn't, right?" He looked at Mike, still smiling, but Mike could tell he was just in denial. "Right?" He squeaked.

Mike shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "But it's true. Peter's step-dad is Mr. Best, and he runs one of the biggest gangs in America."

"Oh boy," Davy said, laying his head down on the table. "Why do things like this always happen to us?"

"I'm beginning to think we all just live on the wrong side of the bed," Micky said. "We've got to be the unluckiest people in the world."

"How'd Peter take it?" Davy asked, noting the blonde's absence.

"I don't know," Mike said. "He didn't overhear me talking to Howie about it, and Howie wanted to tell him in private. They're in the study now."

"Poor Peter," Micky said. "All he wanted to do was come down and see the family. Now this happens..."

* * *

Peter stayed in the office with Howie for almost an hour, the other Monkees sat around silently in the kitchen, every now and again, they would glance towards the door that led to the dining room, as the hallway containing the office was beyond that.

Polly had come back in at one point, and had sensed the tension in the room, so she worked on dinner in anxious silence, while Marissa, disappointed that Sammy had left without talking to her, chattered on about anything she could think of, after climbing onto Mike's lap and settling comfortably there.

Finally, Howie came into the room, looking tired.

"Where's Peter?" Micky asked immediately.

Howie sighed. "He went for a walk," he said. "You were right, Mike-and-Ike. I'd hoped he would take it better..."

He looked so genuinely depressed that Mike almost felt sorry for him. But an even more pressing issue was at hand. "Which way did Peter go?" He asked, standing up.

Davy and Micky stood up too, Peter might have lived in Kent for years, but he was liable to get into trouble at the best of times. After a shocking revelation like the one he'd just had... Well, it was best to have someone with him.

"I'm not sure, I didn't follow him," Howie said. "But he probably just went down the street a little ways towards the river. He used to go there whenever he was upset."

Without a word, the three of them left, walking down the street towards the river. Sure enough, Peter sat on the riverbank, staring at the water as it passed.

"Hey, Shotgun," Mike said, sitting down beside him, Micky sitting on the other side, and Davy sitting beside Micky. "How you doing?"

"Fine, all things considering," Peter said with a sigh. "He's Mr. Best, Mike..."

"I know," Mike said. "Found out when Agent Cupcake showed up at the door."

"Oh, that's who it was?" Peter said absently. "Huh, go figure."

Mike glanced at Micky and Davy, who looked back at him. They had expected a different reaction, denial or confusion, maybe even a few tears. Okay, they'd expected a lot of tears. But this was not what they'd expected at all. Peter was staring blankly into the water, his eyes showing a little bit of confusion but mostly a strange indifference.

They slipped into silence, Peter seeming to be in a trance of a sort, every once in awhile, frowning, but mainly just staring. They sat like that for several minutes, each of them wanting to comfort Peter but none of them knowing what to say.

There were a lot of experiences they'd had altogether, there were several situations they could have helped him with, but this was something new. None of them had any experience with suddenly finding out that a family member was a gang boss.

So they all sat there, as time ticked by unbeknownst to them.

"He wants me to quit being a musician," Peter said suddenly, causing quite a reaction among his band mates.

"What!?" Micky exclaimed, jumping up as Davy let out a surprised and angry yell and even Mike pursed his lips, eyes flashing dangerously.

"No, no, it's not like that," Peter said, seeming to come out of his stupor. "I mean, he wants me to... How did he put it... consider my options and start working towards a fall-back career, just in case it doesn't work out."

"A fall-back career!?" Micky demanded. "What fall-back career!?"

"He wants me to start training to take his place," Peter said miserably. "He wants me to join the gang and one day take over running the thing as Mr. Best."

"Oh, Peter..." Micky said, sympathy mixed with incredulity. "That's no life for you!"

"I know," Peter said. "But he doesn't. Don't get me wrong, I love Howie, he's the best kind of dad I could have asked for. But he doesn't understand music. He never did. He supported me, he came to some of my practices, he paid for lessons, he never once complained when I practiced at home, but... he always saw it as a hobby. Something I could do in my free time, not a career choice. Now that I'm older..."

"He wants you to stop goofing off and get a real job," Davy said, nodding in understanding. That part of the problem, at least, was something he could relate to.

"Yeah," Peter said. "Only his idea of a real job is lifting goods off of other people."

"Did you tell him you weren't interested?" Micky asked.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, but I don't think he was convinced. He wants me to give it a shot, at least, before I say no."

"Give it a shot!?" Mike asked in disbelief. "He's talking about breaking the law! He wants you to give the life of crime a _shot!?_"

"Normally, that's something a parent tells their kid _not _to do," Micky noted.

Peter shrugged. "I told him I didn't want to do anything illegal, and he said he understood being a little nervous the first couple of times, but he said I would learn to treat it like any other business if I just gave it a chance."

Mike put his head in his hands. "This is unbelievable!" He said. "Any other business?! Does he realize what would happen if you got caught!?"

Peter sighed. "He said he's got contacts everywhere," he said. "He promised he could get me off anything they tried to pin on me."

"Lemme get this straight," Davy said. "Howie wants you to quit the music scene and stay here in Connecticut, so you can learn to be a hardened criminal?"

Peter shook his head. "He wants me to go head the operation in Malibu, using music as a cover to keep the cops off my back."

Everyone stared at him.

"Somehow, I just can't picture that," Davy said.

"I know, me neither," Peter said. "But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Finally, he agreed to let me think about it. I'm supposed to give him an answer before we go. What am I going to do?"

He turned to Mike, who wished he could come up with some kind of answer. But he really had no clue what to do.

"I don't know, Pete," he said honestly. "We can't handle this the same way we handle all our other adventures."

"No kidding," Micky said. "Usually, we go to the police. Can you imagine that report? Excuse me, sir," Micky said, slipping into an impromptu act where he played the citizen and the officer. "Yes," he said in a deep voice. "What can I do for you? Oh, I'd like to make a report," he said, slipping back into citizen mode. "My friend's step-dad is the boss of a national gang, can you come arrest him please?"

Peter groaned and put his face in his hands. He muttered something unintelligible as Mike shot Micky a look. Micky had the decency to look guilty.

"What was that, Peter, I couldn't hear you," Davy said.

Peter looked up. "I don't want the police to arrest Howie," He repeated. "I know he's a criminal and all that, but he's still my dad. I just don't know what to do!"

He plopped his head back into his hands and groaned again.

Mike sighed, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder. "It's alright, Peter," he said. "We'll figure something out."

Peter looked up. "Promise?" He asked.

Mike hesitated as Micky and Davy both looked at him, silently asking him the same thing he was asking himself. Did he dare promise something like that? What if he couldn't deliver?

No. He couldn't let Peter down. He would do whatever it took to help Peter figure this out.

"Cross my heart," He promised. Peter seemed slightly reassured, but as they returned to the house a little while later, Mike couldn't help but feel a foreboding, warning him that it wouldn't be as easy as he thought.

And he didn't even think it would be easy in the first place.

_"Oh, Michael Nesmith,"_ he thought to himself. _"What have you got yourself into now?"_


	11. Autumn Magic (Where's the Fifth Head?)

_Author's Notes: I would like to say that my prayers are with the families that lost loved ones in yesterday's shooting in Newtown, Connecticut. This chapter doesn't really have anything to do with it, but I wanted to say so all the same. May God give them peace and comfort, and although nothing can ever give them back what they lost, may they find joy and happiness remembering all the good times they had. It broke my heart, 20 children, ten days before Christmas. Those presents will never be opened. Wherever you are, please stop and take a moment this holiday season, to think about what really matters. And while this chapter is cute and funny, and hopefully will make you laugh, try and remember that what really matters, what's really the most important, is not the gifts or the tree or pretty decorations. This holiday is about Love, and lots of it, something we need now more than ever._

* * *

The next morning, Micky stumbled sleepily from the guest bedroom to the bathroom to get ready for the day, eyes closed, not really watching where he was going.

The evening before had been tense, if not outright stressful, but by the time the Monkees had gone to bed, they had all wordlessly decided that gang-leader or not, Howie was still a fun guy, and though they still disagreed with his plans to train Peter to take his place as Mr. Best and were going to do everything in their power to change his mind, they decided to try and enjoy themselves. It might be a long time before they would be able to visit Kent again, so they wanted to make the most of it.

Howie had gone into work early that morning, however, so there was even less tension in the air now.

Perhaps if the air had been thick with it, Micky wouldn't have run into the wall next to the bathroom door. Groaning, he tried again and actually made it through the door.

When he came back out, he was much more awake, and noticed that he'd knocked a picture frame off the wall when he'd run into it. Picking it up, he saw that instead of a picture, there was some kind of letter in the frame.

Reading it, he grinned, then set off to the kitchen to find the others. They had to see this.

"Guys!" Micky yelled as he ran into the kitchen. Polly dropped her spoon in surprise.

"Micky!" She gasped, hand over her heart. "What did you yell for!? You scared me half to death!"

"Sorry, Polly," Micky said, grinning. "I just found this note on the wall, and I wanted the others to see it."

Polly saw the frame and grinned, and the other Monkees looked up at Micky.

"A note?" Davy asked. "What does it say?"

Micky cleared his throat and began reading, glancing at a confused Peter as he did so.

"Dear Mrs. Tork," he said. "Peter is a very nice boy, who always respects the other children and obeys the rules. He is quick to share his toys and his snack, and he follows direction with a willingness not found in most children of his age."

"What is this?" Mike asked in confusion as Peter turned to his mom, blushing slightly.

"You framed this?" He asked her.

She nodded. "It's a note from Peter's Kindergarten teacher," She said.

Mike frowned, confused himself. "Why would you frame a note from his Kindergarten teacher?" He asked.

Polly shrugged. "I thought it was a cute note," she said. "So I saved it. Then, when I started missing him after he moved out, I found it and decided to frame it."

"It's not done yet," Micky said. "There's more."

Looking down at the note, he kept reading. "However," he read aloud "He has a tendency to look at things from a different perspective. Take today, for example. Today, during craft time, I had the children do some finger-painting. I noticed that Peter was using a brush, so I went to take it from him and discovered that he was actually painting a picture of fingers."

Peter blushed harder as Mike and Davy both laughed.

"Oh, Peter," Davy said. "You would..."

"I would have framed that picture, if I hadn't lost it," Polly said sadly. "You know, Peter's really a very talented artist."

"Yeah, we know," Davy said, remembering the last time Peter had taken up painting.

Marissa looked up at Peter. "You're an artist?" She asked him curiously.

Peter shook his head. "It's fun and everything," he said. "But painting is too dangerous for my tastes."

"Dangerous?" Polly said, chuckling. "What's so dangerous about painting?"

"You'd be surprised," Mike said dryly.

"Alright, something tells me you boys have a pretty good story to tell," Polly said with a smile. "So spill it. What happened to turn you off to the idea of art?"

"Well, it all started when Peter decided to take up painting," Micky said, and then launched into the tale.

* * *

By the end of it, Polly was laughing hysterically as Marissa giggled and even the Monkees, who had been there at the time, found new reasons to laugh.

"So then, we managed to trick them into following us through the invisible beams," Micky said in between laughs.

"Let me guess," Polly said. "All six of you went to jail in five seconds?"

"You got it," Mike said.

"Oh, that's too much," Polly said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I knew you all got into trouble together, but really."

Just then, the clock rang out, and Polly started. "Oh!" She exclaimed. "It's later than I thought! Marissa, honey, get your things. We've gotta get you to preschool!"

The little girl ran off and Polly stood up quickly. "Oh dear," she said. "And I still haven't got the dry cleaning ready. I was supposed to drop it off on the way. And I need to get the shopping list ready, and oh my, my hair's still in curlers!"

"Well, we could take Marissa down to the preschool if that would help," Mike offered.

Polly smiled at him gratefully. "Oh, would you boys do that for me?" She asked. "How sweet! I knew Peter had found good friends, but I didn't know you were all so helpful! Do you know where the school is?"

"Well, we don't," Davy said, pointing to himself, Mike and Micky. "But Peter probably remembers where it is, even if he didn't go to this preschool."

"Yeah, I know where it is," Peter said. "We can walk her down there for you."

"Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?" Polly asked.

"Oh, it won't be any trouble at all," Mike assured her. "I kinda wanted to walk around Kent a little myself, see what all's here."

"Okay," Polly said as Marissa walked back into the room, carrying a small pink backpack.

"Marissa," Polly said. "The boys are going to take you to preschool today, so you be good for them, okay?"

"Yes, mommy," Marissa said, running up to Peter and placing her small hand in his. He smiled down at her as they all walked through the hall and out the front door.

She chattered throughout the walk, talking all about how much fun she had at preschool, how much she liked her teacher, and how she and Meg always sat together at lunch.

"Meg sounds really fun," Micky said, with a sidelong glance at Davy, who grimaced, knowing what Micky was up to. "Do you play with Meg often?"

"Oh yes," Marissa said, not noticing the two boys above her. "She's my best friend in the whole world, and I love playing with her."

"But wait a minute," Micky said in faux innocence. "I thought you said Davy could be your best friend?"

"They can both be my best friend," Marissa said. "People can have more than one, you know."

"You hear that, Davy?" Micky said. "You can both be her best friend."

"Good to know," Davy said, shooting a glare at Micky, who snickered.

"Meg's coming over to my house after school today," Marissa said, looking up at Davy. "We could have a tea party. Can you come, Davy?"

"I don't know," Davy said reluctantly, hating to say 'No,' but unwilling to say yes.

"Oh come on, Davy," Micky said mercilessly. "You wouldn't want to disappoint poor Marissa here. Not after she offered to let you be another best friend! You could all do each other's hair!"

"Micky, leave him alone, would'ja?" Mike said, although he was smirking slightly himself.

"You can come too, Micky," Marissa said, looking up at the drummer, who froze. "We'll make it a foursome. Me, Meg, Davy and you."

"Uh..." Micky started, but Davy interrupted with a laugh.

"Alright," He said. "I'll come if Micky comes. You wouldn't want to disappoint poor Marissa, now, would'ja, Mick?"

Micky groaned. "Fine," he said. "We'll come." Determined to get one last dig in at Davy, he sighed and stood up. "At least I won't have to get my hair done."

"Oh, don't worry," Marissa said, looking up at Micky's curly poufy hairstyle. "I'm sure we can come up with _something_." She frowned. "Although, it might take awhile."

The others laughed as Micky turned red. At least Davy's hair that looked like Meg's was nice. His was something to be challenged.

* * *

After they dropped Marissa off at the school, they walked around the town, Peter pointing out different shops and restaurants, telling them a few stories about his life before he'd moved out.

"Gee, this place is pretty small," Micky noted, looking around at the downtown area.

"Yeah, it is," Peter said, slowing to a stop and looking around. "But small-town life can have it perks. Everybody knew everybody, you could hardly walk down the street without running into someone you- Oof!"

He was cut short as from seemingly out of nowhere a man turned the corner and ran into him, full speed.

"Peter, are you alright?" Davy asked as he and Mike helped the two men to their feet.

"Wow, you were right," Micky noted, referring to what Peter had said the day he met the man- by running into him. "You do get run into a lot. You're a very unlucky person."

"You're telling me," Peter grunted, catching his breath.

"Peter!?" The man asked in surprise.

Peter looked up at him. "Pointy!?" He exclaimed.

"No way!" The man said, smiling. "Peter! I never thought I'd run into you again!"

"You mean it wasn't on purpose this time?" Peter asked him.

"On purpose!?" The man said. "I didn't even know you were in town! Just dumb luck, running into you here."

"Peter, who is this?" Davy asked, bewildered.

"Oh, sorry," Peter said. "Guys, this is one of my friends from high-school, Pointy Q. Zimmerman."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Micky said. "Your name is Pointy Q. Zimmerman!?"

Pointy smiled. "Well, my full name is Pointdexter Quebec," he said. "But Pointy Q. is easier to say."

"You bet it is," Mike said. "Anyway, I'm Michael Nesmith, that's Davy Jones, and that's Micky Dolenz, we're Peter's friends."

"Finally replaced me, eh?" Pointy said jovially, shaking hands with each of the Monkees. "I gotta say, I'm impressed. I'm not easily replaceable. I was voted "Most likely to Make Friends" in Middle-school.

"That's not what I remember," Peter said with a grin. "I remember you winning "Most Annoying" and then I remember you shoving the ballot in Dougy Carmichael's mouth."

Pointy laughed. "Ah yeah," he said. "Good times, eh Pete?"

"Yeah," Peter agreed.

"So what was Peter like back in school?" Micky asked.

Pointy laughed. "Pete?" He said. "Pete was probably the nicest, most level-headed guy ever to walk the halls of our school. He was also the only one nobody ever remembered."

"Nobody remembered him?" Davy said with a confused frown. "What do you mean, nobody ever remembered him?"

"Pete left school before senior year," Pointy explained. "Decided to go travel, hitch-hike across America, he said. So he said goodbye to me and the gang, and took off. About halfway through senior year, somebody noticed he was gone."

"You're kidding," Mike said.

Pointy laughed again. "Nope," he said. "Shelly Anderson walks up to me during lunch one day, and she says 'Hey Pointy.' 'Yeah?' I say. She looks around and says 'Where's that blonde kid that used to hang out with you? I haven't seen him around lately'."

"Wow," Peter quipped. "She actually noticed I was gone? And here I thought she only cared about herself."

"I know, right?" Pointy said. "Surprised me out of my mind! I couldn't even say where you'd gone, I was so surprised. After a minute, she left without an answer and spread a rumor that you'd run away to Alaska where you got a job driving a Zamboni ice-resurfacer and broke through thin ice and drowned."

The Monkees all blinked, and Peter raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He said. "Shelly Anderson came up with that one all by herself?"

"Okay, you got me," Pointy said with a grin. "I started that rumor. Eventually, one of the teachers heard it and sent some flowers to your mother. That really freaked her out, and then I had to come clean. She never forgave me."

"No kidding," Mike said, imagining Polly getting condolence flowers for the apparent death of her son, whom she'd already been worrying about.

"But hey," Pointy said. "It was really funny to walk down the halls and hear some kid that never talked to you a day in your life talk about the "loss." That made it worth it. I'll tell you what, Peter, you were more popular senior year than you ever were before."

"That's not a nice thing to say," Micky said with a frown.

"Oh, but it's true," Pointy insisted. "Other than me and the gang, Peter here just never really hit it off with anybody. A lot of the kids didn't even know his name. In fact, during elementary school, a lot of the kids thought his name was Peter Dork."

"Dork!?" Davy exclaimed as Mike shook his head and chuckled. "That's just cold," he said.

"You said it," Peter smiled. "But at least I was able to set the record straight. Pointy here had to admit to _his_ name."

"Eh, I turned it into a joke," Pointy said, shrugging. "Kinda hard to make fun of somebody if they're laughing right along with you. One time, Dougy told me I had the stupidest name in history. I told him he had a Point."

The Monkees all laughed at that.

"I also remember hearing you tell someone that for every finger they Pointed at you, there were four more Pointing back at them," Peter said. "Right before you started poking them to death."

"Oh yeah, that was funny," Pointy said. "Then there was the time I told Mary Hooper that it was Pointless for her to pick on me, and when she still didn't let up, I told her I gave her permission to Point and laugh at me."

"After that, he started taping signs to his own back, telling people to Point and laugh," Peter said, turning to the others. "After awhile, people realized that it didn't bother him."

"It didn't bother me at all," Pointy said with a grin. "I love hearing new lame puns about my name."

"You should score everyone on their attempts," Mike said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he attempted to keep a straight face. "Rank them on some sort of... Point system."

Pointy laughed. "That's a good one," he said. "But hey, I gotta get going. I just remembered, I'm late for an ap_point_ment. It was really nice seeing you again, Pete! Are you gonna be in town?"

"Yeah, for a little while at least," Peter said. "You should drop by."

"Can't," Pointy said with a lopsided grin. "Your mother still hates me for pretending you were dead. Besides, Marissa gives me the creeps."

"Marissa!?" Mike exclaimed in disbelief. "How does Marissa give you the creeps!?"

"Ran into her at the park once," Pointy said. "She tried to get me to play mermaids with her because her friend had to go home. I told her I wasn't interested, so she chased me around and threw dirt at my head. Anyway, I'll see ya around!"

With that, Pointy took off running down the street and out of sight.

"She threw dirt at his head?" Davy asked, half skeptically, half worriedly.

"Yeah," Peter scoffed. "And I was drowned in a Zamboni Ice-resurfacer accident in Alaska. Don't believe everything Pointy says, he's a great guy and everything, but he's a pretty consistent liar. He'll say anything if he thinks it could be funny."

"Got it," Mike said, smirking at the young man he'd just met. "Man, Peter, you sure had some crazy friends."

"Hey now," Peter said, grinning. "They can't all be Micky Dolenz's."

"True, very true," Micky said solemnly, nodding his head. "That would be admittedly creepy. I mean, Baby Face Morales was one thing. Another Micky Dolenz? Weird."

* * *

As promised, Marissa threw her tea party that evening with her friend Meg, and Davy and Micky, as promised, attended.

With water instead of tea, milk instead of cream, and salt instead of sugar, it was by far the worst cup of tea they had ever had, but they hid their grimaces and assured Marissa that everything was delicious. Once tea was over, it was time to do their hair.

Peter and Mike stood in the doorway as Marissa, using a bright pink comb, complimented a red-faced Davy's hair repeatedly, as she tried several different styles and several different barrettes. Meanwhile, Meg was having her own problems with Micky's hair, as after wetting it down (getting Micky's shirt soaked in the process) and painfully yanking a brush through it several times, she declared it was impossible and proceeded to tie several different colored bows in different places, creating a rather psychedelic-meets-poodle affect.

The entire time the two boys hair was getting done, Mike and Peter snickered at them behind their hands, and solemnly praised the work done by the two girls.

Finally, it was done. Meg and Marissa stood back to admire their handiwork, and Peter and Mike tried hard not to laugh, as Davy and Micky stared grimly into two hand mirrors provided by the girls.

"I look like a circus clown," Micky moaned, examining the ribbons.

"That's nothing," Davy said, as his hair was parted down the side and held back out of his face with two pink barrettes. "I look like a girl!"

"Yeah, Davy," Mike said, his voice almost squeaking with his attempt to hide his laughter. "Yeah you do."

"I wanted to do Davy's hair," Meg grumbled. "I got the raw end of the deal with Fuzzy over here."

"Hey!" Micky exclaimed.

"I'm sorry," Marissa said smoothly. "I just figured since his hair was such a challenge, you would have better luck. You do have more talent with this sort of thing, you know."

The Monkees all blinked as Meg considered this. Marissa's flattery worked, and the young girl smiled. "Okay," she said. "I guess you're right. But next time, I want to get first pick on our customers."

"Deal," Marissa said. "How about we do the two of you?" She said, turning towards Mike and Peter, who froze.

"I don't know..." Mike started.

Marissa was a very determined girl, however, and after much persuading, she got Mike and Peter to sit down while Micky and Davy took their places at the door, watching.

* * *

An hour later found Howie coming home from work and finding four very grumpy Monkees sitting at the dinner table, eating their food in silence, their hair a testimony to what had them in such a bad mood.

Marissa had done Mike's hair, she managed to get it to curl up somewhat, and placed one green headband in it. Meg had picked Peter, and now his blonde hair was separated into several pigtails, which stuck up in all directions.

Marissa had convinced them to promise not to change it until after dinner, so the meal was a quiet one.

Then Polly brought out dessert, and asked Davy to pass one of the plates of dessert to Howie.

Davy obliged, and with a smile, Howie spoke up. "Thanks, Miss," He said.

Davy groaned and put his head on the table.

"Oh, Howie, leave poor Davy alone," Polly said mischievously. "Davy, dear, don't worry, I think your hair looks marvelous. Now, be a love and pass this plate on to Minnie Mouse."

Now it was Micky's turn to groan, as Mike, suddenly struck with the actual hilarity of the situation, began to laugh quietly.

"Leave me alone, Mike," Micky whined. "You don't look much better."

"That's just it," Mike said. "Micky, look at Peter. Peter, look at Davy. Davy, look at me. Really look."

The Monkees all looked at each other, still grumpy. After a second, they all blinked, then began to laugh themselves. Soon enough, everyone at the table was laughing as they ate their dessert.

"I look absolutely ridiculous," Peter commented, looking at his reflection on the back of a spoon.

"You're telling me," Micky said. "Hey! Shake your head really fast, it'll make your pigtails bounce!"

Peter obliged, and the table burst into laughter once more.

"Davy, your hair looks absolutely divine," Mike said to Davy after they'd settled down somewhat.

Davy reached up with his hand and flipped his hair over his shoulder. "Why, thank you, Mike," he said. "I like your headband."

"What about me?" Micky asked, looking around at the others. They all looked back for a second.

"Sorry, Micky," Peter said finally. "You still just look goofy."

"Your hair is impossible," Marissa commented.

"I think it's groovy," Davy said. "You should wear it like that more often."

"Yeah, maybe it'll get us more gigs," Peter said.

"Or less," Mike deadpanned.

They kept on like this until Micky happened to laugh right as he was swallowing a bite of dessert, and choked on it, gasping and retching until Mike had to hit him on the back several times to get him to cough it back up.

"Gee, thanks," Micky said gratefully once he caught his breath.

"No problem," Mike said. "...Miss."

They all helped to clear the table, and as the last of the dishes were put away, Polly came out of the bedroom, carrying a camera. "Oh no," Mike started, but Howie cut him off.

"Oh, come on, boys!" He said. "This is a memory, this is a grand time we all had together as a family! Let's please capture this moment, so we can always look back and remember tonight!"

Mike sighed. "...Fine," He said. "Come on, fellas, let's get this over with."

"I wanna be in the picture, too!" Marissa exclaimed, running over to Peter. "Pick me up," she ordered, and he obeyed.

"Okay, everybody, get together," Polly said, holding the camera up and peering into it.

The Monkees all stood together, Peter holding Marissa, and Howie standing behind Davy so he could be seen by the camera.

"Smile," Polly said, and they all grinned goofily as she snapped the picture.

"That was perfect!" She said. "Oh, I can't wait to get that developed! This is going over the fireplace!"

"Great," Mike said. "Now everyone who goes into the den will see us in our pigtails and headbands."

"That's not even the worst of it," Micky said. "I think I blinked."

* * *

The next morning, the local barber had a very good business day, as four boys with long hair came marching in for a haircut. Not too short, they'd said. But a haircut none the less.


	12. The Worst Gig Ever

Saturday morning, Agent Cupcake came to the house to meet with Howie.

Having the gang member in the house only served to remind the Monkees of Howie's plans for Peter, and the air became tense once again.

Especially when Agent Cupcake left the office and sent a small smile over in Peter's direction. "Well, Peter," he said. "I can't say I would ever peg you for a gang-boss type, but if you do end up deciding to join the gang, I'll do everything I can to help you adjust to the lifestyle."

Peter visibly deflated. "Thanks," he said. "But I don't think I'm going to join."

"Well, let's not make any hasty decisions here," Howie said from behind Agent Cupcake. "You agreed to think it over, and give me an answer at the end of your stay."

Peter glanced at Mike for silent support, and Mike nodded.

"Well," Peter said slowly, turning back to Howie. "I... I've thought it over, and... And I've decided that I'm happy where I am. I just want to play music, with my friends."

"You'd still be able to do that, though," Howie said. "I'm not saying you should give up music, Peg-leg-Pete, I'm just saying you need to be able to provide for yourself, when singing a song just won't do."

"Now, look here," Davy said, eyes flashing dangerously. "There's nothing wrong with being a singer, lots of people make tons of money as singers! Just because you're not a singer doesn't mean you can go bashing the profession as a whole!"

Howie turned to Davy and sighed. "I wasn't trying to bash your profession," he said. "I just happen to know a little bit about the world, and that includes the world of entertainment. You should know as well as anyone, seeing as how you're part of his band, that being a musician can be very hard! Not everyone catches a break. You could be the best singer in the world, and you can live your life as a failure and die penniless and starved. I don't want that to happen to Peter."

"Hey!" Micky said suddenly. "What if we were able to prove that we've got a good thing going with our band?" He suggested. "What if we got a gig somewhere, and you came and listened to us play? Have you ever actually heard us play together?"

"To be honest, no I haven't," Howie said. "But I'm not sure where you would get a gig..."

Agent Cupcake looked around at everyone, then spoke up. "Actually, boss," he said. "There's that fancy party you're going to, the one down in New Milford. Their entertainment just cancelled."

"Really?" Howard asked. "That's great! Peter, if you boys want to play at the dinner party, I'm sure we can get you hired!"

Peter smiled. "Alright," he said. "When's the party?"

"Tonight at nine," Agent Cupcake said. "Want me to make the call?"

They all turned and looked at Mike. Mike suddenly wished he weren't the unofficial leader, at least not right then. Because he had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that something wasn't quite right. But Peter looked so desperate and hopeful that with a sigh, Mike gave in.

"Alright," he said. "Well play. But we have to come up with a set list and rehearse from now until the party."

"Deal," Peter said with a smile.

Mike tried to ignore that pesky feeling that something was going to go wrong, and he smiled back. Everything would be fine. It just had to be.

* * *

They set up the bandstand without a hitch, they had a successful warm up, and the crowd really seemed to enjoy their music. All in all, everything was going well.

But right when Mike was feeling enthusiastic about the whole thing and chiding himself for feeling so anxious earlier, everything fell to pieces.

They had an interim, the Monkees got down off the bandstand and were allowed to mingle and get something to eat, and they were going to continue playing after about a half-hour.

"Hey, Peter, can I talk to you for a second?" Howie asked, taking a step towards the nearby hallway.

Peter gave a hopeful smile to the others and followed Howie out of the main room. As soon as they were alone, Peter smiled. "What do you think so far?" He asked. "Do you like our music?"

"Oh boy, do I!" Howie said with a grin. "It's great, Peter, I'm surprised you boys are so down on your luck as you are."

"Then... you'll agree to let me stay on with the band?"

"Peter, how many times do I have to say I don't want you to give up your music?" Howie sighed. "You've got a good thing going here, Peg-leg-Pete, I wouldn't ask you to give it up!"

Peter had stopped smiling by now, and he bit his lower lip nervously. "But...?" He prompted.

"But I still don't see how you can make a living out of it," Howie said. "It's a great hobby, Peter, your band is the best I've ever heard, although maybe I'm just prejudiced because you're in it. You should sing more. I haven't heard you take lead once tonight."

"We're doing Auntie Grizelda later," Peter said absently.

"Well, that's good," Howie said. "In the meantime, Peter, I have something to tell you."

"What?" Peter asked, looking up at Howie expectantly.

"This isn't just any old party," Howie said. "This house belongs to Dame Marilda Hampton, owner of the famous Renaldi Ruby, discovered by the Dame's great-grandfather, Tyrone Renaldi. Not only that, but she recently pulled it out of permanent display in the museum of precious stones and gems. It's here tonight, and it's the most vulnerable it's been for the past fifty years!"

Peter felt his hopes sink lower and lower as Howie talked. "You mean," He said. "You're here to pull a heist?"

Howie nodded. "We've been planning it for three months," he said. "Now, Peter, I agreed to have you boys come here and play so that you could show me that this is a good career for you. But I'd like this deal to go both ways, I want you to see me at work. Not only that, I want you to get a chance to help me."

"But, stealing's wrong," Peter said. "I don't want to steal miss Hampton's ruby. It belongs to her, we shouldn't take it!"

"But she doesn't need it," Howie said. "She's a millionaire, she's got loads of money! She wouldn't even miss it if it weren't so famous."

"And what do you need it for?" Peter asked.

Howie blinked. "That's not the point," He said.

"Well, what do you need it for?" Peter demanded. "You can't just steal something for no reason!"

"Well," Howie said. "We could break it up into several smaller rubies, and sell them separately. With the money we could make, we could finance ourselves for an entire year, and we could use the money to shut down the Black Rose gang for good!"

"But I don't want to steal it!" Peter despaired.

"Think about it, Peg-leg-Pete," Howie said. "If we steal this one ruby, we won't need to pull another heist for a year!"

Peter hesitated. Howie took that as a yes.

"Come on," he said. "The ruby is down this way, Just be quiet and do what I tell you, and everything will go off without a hitch."

Peter followed Howie, not sure how he could get out of it now. They walked down the grand hall until they got to the library, and then stepped through the large oak doors.

"Shouldn't there be guards?" Peter asked.

"Naw, we pocketed them last month," Howie said. "This way."

They crept through the dark library until they came to a ladder, and Howie began climbing it.

"You keep look-out," he whispered to Peter. "The Ruby's hidden in a secret place behind one of those books on the top shelf. I'll get it, and come back down."

Peter waited anxiously, watching the doors of the library, until Howie hissed down at him to get his attention. Peter looked up to see Howie smiling.

"Catch," He said, and he dropped something large and red. Peter caught it and looked at the famous Renaldi Ruby. It was beautiful, roughly the size of a tangerine, and cut in such a way that when it caught the light, it sparkled and shone with a red glow.

Peter looked at it in awe as he held it and Howie climbed back down.

"Well?" He said, smiling at Peter. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Peter nodded, then shook his head. "Put it back," he said. "Put it back. We can't take this."

Howie looked surprised. "I can't put it back," he said, taking the ruby and putting it in his pocket. "We've been planning this heist for three months. We've got to go through with it, there's no backing out now."

Howie started walking back towards the oak doors. He opened one door slightly and peered into the hallway. Suddenly, he jumped slightly and gave a low hiss. "I don't believe it!" He said. "That's Tasha Forge!" He shut the door and looked wildly around the room. "Hide!" He whispered, grabbing Peter's arm and rushing down one aisle of books.

They ducked under a desk in a dark corner of the room.

"Who's Tasha Forge?" Peter whispered.

"Master spy and thief," Howie said. "Works for the Black Rose gang! She must be here for the ruby!"

They heard the doors squeak open, and they both stopped whispering and held their breath. They heard the sound of high-heels cross the hardwood floor towards the ladder, then they heard the ladder itself creak for a few moments, and everything was silent. Then they heard a slight gasp, and the ladder creaked again. Peter chanced a glance above the desk, and saw a very pretty woman with red hair tied up in a bun, wearing a black evening dress, climbing down the ladder. He quickly ducked back behind the bookcase when she reached the floor and started to look around. Then they heard her run back out of the library.

As soon as the doors closed, Howie and Peter both let out a deep breath. Then Howie stood up. "This is bad," he said. "This changes everything. I can't have the ruby on me now, Tasha will be trying to find out who has it, and she already suspects me!"

"Then put it back!" Peter urged.

"No," Howie said. "This is our income for the next year, Pete! We can't put it back!"

Then he suddenly gasped.

"What, what is it?!" Peter asked, looking around.

Howie pulled the ruby out of his pocket and thrust it into Peter's hands. "You've got to hold onto it for me," he said.

"I- but, Wha- Huh?" Peter stammered, clutching the ruby tightly in his hands.

"It's the only way," Howie said. "Tasha is refined, elegant, and haughty. She'd never suspect the _band_ of stealing the ruby! At least, I don't think she will. You've gotta take it with you, and hide it in your guitar case or something! Just until the end of the party."

"No," Peter said. "I can't! I can't keep the ruby with me!"

"Peter, you have to!" Howie said. "I'm sorry, I never would have had you do this, but it needs to be done! If Tasha catches me with the ruby, she'll kill me!"

Peter went white. "Alright," he said quietly. "I'll... I'll keep it. But just until the end of the party!"

"Don't worry, Peg-leg-Pete," Howie said, trying to smile confidently. "As long as you keep your head, everything can still go smoothly. Now, I'm going to slip out first, so she doesn't see us together. Then you go back to the boys and try and act casual."

As Howie slipped through the door, Peter nodded, trying to psych himself out that everything was alright.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "Act casual. Hide the ruby. Keep my head. Oh, I'm in trouble..."

He counted to sixty three times, and then he slipped through the door quietly. Nobody was in the hallway, so he walked quickly towards the main room and stepped into the small crowd, trying to find one of the other Monkees.

Finally, he spotted Mike standing a little ways away. That was fortunate. If anyone could help, it would probably be Mike.

He walked casually towards Mike, and tapped him on the shoulder. Mike turned around to see who was tapping him just as Peter found an opening in the crowd and moved to stand in front of Mike. They missed each other.

"Hello?" Mike said. "Huh, that's odd."

Peter tapped him again, then there was another opening and he moved to stand in front of Mike, again, right as Mike turned to see who was tapping him.

"Alright," Mike said. "I don't know who's doing that, but cut it out!"

Peter let out a small sigh and tried again, this time staying where he was.

Mike didn't turn around. "Mike," Peter tried. Mike jumped and turned around.

"Peter!" He said, letting out a deep breath. "Don't do that."

"Mike, I need to tell you something," Peter said.

"Sure Pete, you can tell me anything," Mike said.

Peter took a deep breath, and then he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around, but there was no one there. "Oh great, now it's happening to me," Peter said, turning around again.

Mike was standing there, watching the whole thing with an amused expression, but there wasn't anyone else. "Peter, hold still," Mike said. "Micky, _now_ come around."

Micky walked in front of them, grinning. "Did you see that?" He said. "We totally missed each other!"

"Yep, you sure did," Mike said. "Now it's your turn."

"What?" Micky said, not noticing as Davy walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder before walking in front of Micky, right as he turned around.

"Oh, I get it," Micky said. "You saw him come up behind me." He turned around again and paled. "Guys?" He said.

"What?" Mike asked.

Micky gulped. "Where's Davy?" He squeaked.

Mike sighed and put his hand in front of his eyes. "Look down," he said.

Micky glanced down, and sure enough, Davy was standing in front of him. Micky had looked right over his head. "Nice," Davy said sarcastically. "I'm wearing my boots and everything."

"Sorry Davy," Micky said with a snicker. "There's no reason to get _short_ with me."

"Ha ha," Davy said dryly. "Now if you don't mind, I'm in a bad mood, I struck out with this girl just now, and I-"

Micky gasped. "You _what_!?" He said. "Unbelievable! Unheard of! I can't believe my ears!"

"I stole the Renaldi Ruby," Peter blurted out.

Mike, Micky and Davy all froze, staring at him.

Finally, Mike cleared his throat, and, taking hold of Peter's sleeve, led them backwards into a nearby corner and away from the crowd. "Ehm, uh, what did you just say, Pete?" He asked.

"I said, I said I stole the Renaldi Ruby," Peter said. "Well, I was lookout, and Howie stole it, cause he said he wanted me to see him at work, but then Tasha Forge showed up, and he couldn't have her find it on him, so I said we should put it back, but they were planning this heist for three months, so he gave it to me, and I don't know what to do."

Micky and Davy looked stunned, and Mike took a deep breath, looking a little surprised himself. "Alright," he said. "Do you have it with you now?"

Peter nodded and patted the front pocket of his jeans, a large bulge where the ruby was.

"Wow!" Mike said. "That's gotta be big!"

"It is," Peter said. "Howie said it's enough to finance the gang for an entire year."

"Who's Tasha Forge?" Micky asked.

"A master thief from the Black Rose gang," Peter said. "Howie said she'd kill him if she caught him with the ruby, but that she probably wouldn't suspect the band."

"In that case," Mike said. "Let's get back up on that stage and be the band."

But as they were walking through the crowd to reach the bandstand, Peter saw Tasha Forge walking towards him, pausing to make light conversation with some of the people in her path, but definitely glancing at him every chance she could get.

"Guys!" Peter whispered. "That's her! She's coming!"

"Who's her?" Micky whispered back, looking wildly in every direction but the right one.

"The menacing yet lovely red-head stalking purposefully towards us, I'd wager," Mike said. "Act casual, Peter, she can't know you have it."

Peter put on a convincing smile as Tasha finally reached him. "Hello," she said with an icy smile of her own. "My name is Tasha Forge." She held out a gloved hand with an impressively large diamond ring on one of the fingers, evidently expecting him to take her hand and kiss it. Strange aristocratic people.

"Hi, it's, uh, nice to meet you, Tasha," Peter said, grabbing her hand and shaking it vigorously.

Tasha looked startled, then annoyed, and quickly pulled her hand away. "...Yes," she said. "Anyway, I hear you're here with Harold."

"Well, that was a nice bit of alliteration," Micky noted.

"Actually," Peter said. "I'm here with my band. We're the Monkees."

"Yes, quite," Tasha said, looking them all over in revulsion. "But that's not what I meant. You were only hired today, right? The other band cancelled, and you were recommended for the job by one of the guests."

Peter gulped. "Yes," he said. "That's right."

"That's what I thought," Tasha said. "In fact, you were recommended by Harold Bessetti, if I'm not mistaken."

"It's Howard, actually," Peter said without thinking.

Tasha smiled. "That's right," she said. "Dear Howard! I hear you're his son. Is that true, Peter? Are you his son?"

Peter was visibly shaking by now, and Mike stepped in. "Now look here," he said. "What exactly are you here to say? Because we've got to be on stage, so if that's everything...?"

"Oh, I'm not quite finished," Tasha said with a light little laugh. "What were you doing in the hallway for so long, Peter? Your father was with you wasn't he? And what's that you've got in your pocket?"

"Shameful!" Micky burst suddenly, scowling at Tasha, who took a step backwards. "I am completely and utterly in shock!"

"I beg your pardon!" She said haughtily, glaring at Micky.

"As well you should!" Micky exclaimed. "I've never heard the like in my life! And you, such an elegant, refined lady! You ought to be thrown out! And then banned for life! And after that, you should get pardoned, just so they can ban you a second time and laugh in your face!"

"I say, I have no idea what on earth you're talking about!" Tasha said, looking at Micky in disgust.

"I say, you do!" Micky said. He had been getting louder and louder, and now all the people closest to them were watching in confusion.

"I say," Micky continued. "How dare you! I say, you slimy little conniver! I say, you simpering little witch! I say, you slithering little Delilah! I say, you... you... You Queen of garbage! Of refuse! Of putrescence!"

"Move on, Mick," Mike muttered. He wasn't entirely sure where Micky was going, but he had distracted Tasha from Peter, and he seemed to have captured the attention of everyone in the room.

Tasha seemed to have realized this herself, and she looked around at everyone helplessly. "I don't know what you're talking about," She said to Micky, but her voice had lost its certainty.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Micky exclaimed. "You stole the Renaldi Ruby!"

Everyone gasped, including Peter, Davy and Mike, who thought for sure that Micky had just doomed them. If there was a search, and Peter was found to have the ruby...

"Ha!" Tasha said victoriously. "_I_ stole it! Your little friend here has it in his pocket! _He_ stole it!"

"Shameful!" Micky repeated again, looking at Tasha in disgust. "Absolutely, positively shameful!"

Tasha looked at him in confusion.

Micky glared at her for a few seconds, and then turned to Peter. "Look in your left-hand pocket," he said. "I think you'll find that miss Forge here has planted some evidence on you!"

"What?" Peter said, absolutely terrified. It was a good thing he was playing the role of framed thief, otherwise it would have been very suspicious. "Oh, right!" He said, catching on. Mike and Davy also gave each other half-smiles. This was gold.

Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out the ruby, then he gasped dramatically. "It's the famous Renaldi Ruby!" He said in faux shock. "I've only heard legends about it! I thought it was in the museum of precious stones and gems!"

"Precisely!" Micky exclaimed. "The famous Renaldi ruby! Cut to perfection, so that the light shining on it precisely right, causes it to sparkle! Oh, wait, it needs a bit of polish..." He pulled a handkerchief out of the front pocket of a gentleman standing nearby, and wiped the gem free of any possible fingerprints.

"The light causes it to sparkle!" He said again once he was finished, throwing the handkerchief over his shoulder. "And Miss Tasha Forge, tried to steal it and plant it on this poor boy, this innocent musician!"

"This is ridiculous!" Tasha said. "Why would I steal the Renaldi Ruby!? I have... hundreds of precious stones of my own! I'm even wearing one right now!"

She flashed her diamond ring around at the crowd.

"What, did you steal them too?" Micky accused. "Come on! Who would believe that a simple musician would steal a famous ruby? We only got this job tonight, ask miss Hampton! A stunt like this would take at least three months to plan!"

"That's right," said a man in the audience. "Why would they steal it? The blonde kid didn't even know it was out of the museum."

"Yes, and it's true they were only hired tonight," said miss Hampton. "The other band called yesterday and cancelled."

"Are, are you serious!?" Tasha exclaimed nervously, looking around. "Why, you can check it for fingerprints, I haven't touched it!"

"You're wearing gloves," Mike pointed out. "Of course you haven't touched it."

"And everyone knows, thieves wear gloves," Davy added. "Peter isn't wearing gloves, so he can't possibly be the thief!"

"Hey, he's right," another man said. "No respectable thief would steal a precious gem without gloves! He's innocent!"

"Then that means..." Miss Hampton said. Then she gasped indignantly. "You stole my great-grandfather's ruby!" She shrieked, pointing at Tasha. "Guards! Get her!"

Just as some guards in the corner of the room came charging towards her, Tasha pulled a gun out of her purse. Everyone shrieked and got down on the ground. "Nobody touch me!" She growled desperately, pulling Micky to his feet and using him as a shield from the guards. "Or fuzzy-boy here gets it!" She pointed her gun at Micky's head and cocked it, the loud click echoing in the large room.


	13. Fair Enough

As Tasha held her gun up to Micky's head, she looked wildly about the room and backed towards the door slowly. "Alright," she said. "Nobody try anything! Everyone just hold still, and stay where you are!"

"Why do you want Micky!?" Peter demanded, looking up from where he was kneeling on the floor next to Mike, who seemed to be thinking.

"That's simple," Tasha said. "He's got the ruby."

"You mean this ruby?" Micky asked, holding it up and then dropping it.

"No!" Tasha said, momentarily distracted by the falling ruby. As she reached out to try and catch it, three things happened. First Howie, who had been poised nearby, ready to strike if he had an opening, jumped up and pulled Micky away from Tasha. Then Mike, who had also seen an opening, ran up and wrestled the gun away from her hand, then pointed it at her. And finally Miss Hampton ran forward and snatched the ruby from the floor.

"Oh my goodness," she said, clutching the precious gem. "I think I'm going to faint!"

Mike, still pointing Tasha's gun at her, lowered it once the guards stepped forward and placed her in handcuffs. Then he turned to Micky. "You alright?" He asked.

"Am I!" Micky said with a grin. "Did you see how fast I thought that up?"

Mike cleared his throat. "Ehm, you mean when you dropped the ruby? Yeah, that was quick thinking," he said, silently telling Micky to shut up before he revealed anything.

Luckily, Micky got the message. "Oh, uh, yeah!" He said. "Yeah, when I dropped the ruby. Haha, what else would I have thought up? That's all I came up with! Nothing else suspicious at all!"

Mike cleared his throat again, this time giving Micky a "shut up now!" look.

Luckily, everyone was too busy crowding Miss Hampton, who had actually fainted, apparently. Mike let out a deep breath.

"Don't think this is the last you'll see of me," Tasha said, glaring at them. "I'm the best of the best! Nobody can stop me!"

"That's funny," Davy quipped. "Seems to me we stopped you pretty fast."

Tasha gasped and glared at Davy, who smirked back. "I'll get you!" She screamed as she was led out the door. "I'll get all of you! I swear, I'll get you, you stupid Monkees!"

The door closed behind her, and everyone in the room was silent for a moment.

"Well," Howie said. "Now wasn't that a bit of excitement! I, for one, am absolutely exhausted! We should get home. Come on, boys, go pack your instruments."

"Wait just a moment!" Sir Hampton exclaimed, walking up to the Monkees, who braced themselves for the worst.

"Boys," Sir Hampton said. "Don't think you can get away from me so easily, I know what you're up to!"

Micky swallowed. "You do?" He asked.

"Of course!" Sir Hampton said. "It's obvious what's going on here! You boys are too modest to accept the praise that you deserve, stopping that thief from stealing my wife's great-grandfather's famous ruby! Why, you showed true bravery tonight!"

"Oh," Micky said with a sigh of relief. "That's good. Yeah, I guess we were pretty brave."

"Of course you were," Sir Hampton said. "You boys should be knighted! But, since we don't exactly do that, and I have no authority to perform such a feat at all, I'll simply have to reward you with a monetary gift!"

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Mike said.

"Come on, boy, don't be so modest!" Sir Hampton said.

"Yeah, Mike, don't be so modest!" Micky said. "Really! Sir Hampton is being very generous, it would just be rude to snub him!"

"Quite right," Sir Hampton said. "Quite right. Now then," he said, pulling a wallet out of his jacket. "There's fifty dollars for each of you!"

"Fi- did you say- wow, really?" Mike said, eyes wide as he accepted the bill. "Fifty dollars! Wow, thanks, Mr. Hampton, this is- just, wow!"

"Boy, you said it," Micky said, staring at his own crisp fifty-dollar bill in awe.

"I'll be able to afford dinner for two every night for a week straight!" Davy said.

"Please," Peter said. "I don't need any reward, really, you can keep your money."

The other Monkees looked at Peter in surprise, but Sir Hampton merely laughed. "Don't worry about breaking the bank, dear boy," he said. "I have plenty more where that came from! That was barely scratching the surface of my daily spending budget!"

"I don't mind, really," Peter said. "Please, you can keep your money."

"My boy, I insist!" Sir Hampton said. "You helped to rescue my wife's ruby. I simply must reward you for such an act of bravery! Take the money, I insist!"

Peter hesitated, then he shoved the bill in his pocket. "Thanks," He said quietly.

"There, that's better," Sir Hampton said with a smile before turning to Howie. "And there's one for you too, Mr. Bessetti," he said, handing a bill to Howie. "You might have well saved this young man's life!"

"Oh, it was what any one of them would have done, had they had the chance," Howie said, but he accepted the bill nonetheless. "Thank you kindly, Sir Hampton, and I hope your wife feels better in the morning!"

"Oh, she will," Sir Hampton said, glancing over his shoulder at his wife, who had awoken and was now being fussed over. "She does it for the attention," he explained. "At any rate, thank you boys once again, I hope you all have a safe trip home!"

"Thank you, and thank you for the lovely party!" Howie said, smiling and giving a slight bow before turning and leaving.

The Monkees, after audibly wondering whether or not they were supposed to bow to Sir Hampton, or if Howie had just been bowing because that was something he did, decided not to risk it and they all bowed stiffly before packing up their instruments and following Howie out to the car.

The ride home was silent, Howie drove the car stiffly, looking straight ahead the whole time and frowing slightly, and Peter sat in the back and stared pensively out the window. The other Monkees could feel the tension, and although Micky and Davy talked quietly for a little while, the silence soon spread. The drive was only twenty minutes, but it seemed to stretch on for an hour.

Finally, when they turned down Locust Street, Peter spoke. "I'm sorry we wrecked your heist," he said.

"What?" Howie said, frowning a bit deeper. "Oh. Oh! Peter, that didn't matter. I'm sorry I got you pulled into it, I never should have sprung it on you last minute like that. And most of all, I'm sorry you boys almost got hurt. You hear that, Micky-Mouse? I'm sorry you almost got hurt. That was some pretty impressive performance you did. Have you ever considered the gang life? We could use talent like yours."

Micky, who had been smiling at the praise, paused, his grin slowly fading. "Uh, actually, I have a small bit of experience with gangs," he said. "It's not a life for me. I'm leaving the whole gang-member thing to Babyface. If I got involved now, people would keep mixing us up, and I don't want anyone mistaking me for that sleazy, rotten, rat-faced ugly beast!"

Howie blinked, but nodded. "That makes sense," He said. He pulled the car into the driveway and stopped the engine. "I'm not upset about the ruby, Peter," He said, opening the door and stepping out.. "I mean, I'm a little upset that we didn't get it, but Tasha didn't get it either, and besides, the night wasn't a total loss. We each got fifty bucks. That's something."

Mike noticed a brief flash of irritation play across Peter's face, but then Peter opened the car door and stepped out, so Mike decided to just ask him about it later.

They brought all their instruments into the house, and then Davy yawned, which caused Howie to yawn, and then Mike and Peter yawned, and finally Micky yawned, and by that time, Davy yawned again, so they all agreed it was time for bed.

* * *

"Mike, will you drive me to New Milford?"

Mike looked up in surprise at Peter, who was standing in the doorway nervously. His mood hadn't changed since the night before, and even Marissa had noticed it.

"Why are you sad?" She'd asked him earlier. "Oh, I'm not sad," He'd said, giving her a small smile. But he hadn't fooled anyone else.

Mike thought about asking Peter what was going on his head right now, but he decided he'd probably have better luck getting him to open up if they were somewhere else.

"Sure, Pete," he said. "Any particular reason?"

"Oh, you know," Peter said, looking away and shrugging. "Change of scenery" He suggested.

Mike chuckled. "Alright," he said. "Let me grab my keys."

Mike waited until they were out of town before asking questions. "Peter, what's on your mind?" He asked. "And don't say 'nothing,' we all know it's not true."

Peter, who had been about to say that there was nothing wrong, blinked, then chuckled. "I can't pull anything past you guys, can I?" He joked.

"Nope, you can't," Mike said. "Now, tell me, what's up? Why are we really going to New Milford?"

Peter hesitated. "Well..." He said. "You see, it's just... Tasha didn't steal the ruby, we did. Howie and I."

"You're not upset that she got arrested, are you?" Mike said. "She was going to steal the ruby, and she would have hurt you to get it."

"Oh, I know that," Peter said. "I'm not upset she was arrested. That's not it."

"Then what's bugging you?" Mike asked.

"It's just... he gave me fifty dollars," Peter said.

Mike frowned, what did that have to do with... Oh. "You feel like you don't deserve it, because you actually did steal the ruby," he said. "Is that it?"

Peter nodded. "He gave us the money because we saved his ruby from Tasha. But I helped steal it first. I didn't deserve any reward. It was my fault the ruby was in danger anyway."

"Now look here," Mike said. "It was not your fault! If it was anyone's fault, it was Howie's, for convincing you to go along with his scheme in the first place."

"But he didn't force me to help him," Peter said. "You know what I should've done, I should've said no right from the start. I should have refused. I should never have followed him into that library, and I never should have left with the ruby still in my pocket. Even if it wasn't my idea, I helped steal that ruby, in fact, I was closer to stealing it than Tasha, and she's a master thief."

"Peter, you're not planning on turning yourself in to the New Milford police, are you?" Mike asked warily. "Because if you are, I'm turning this car around right now."

"No, I'm not planning on turning myself in," Peter said with a chuckle. "I'm just going to return that fifty dollars."

"Sir Hampton's not going to accept it," Mike reminded him.

"Oh, I know," Peter said. "I'm going to donate it anonymously to the museum of precious stones and gems. He'll never know, and now that the ruby almost got stolen, they'll probably put it back on permanent display there to keep it safe, so the money will be used to protect the ruby."

Mike blinked. Peter had really thought this through. "Well," he said. "I'm proud of you, Pete. But are you sure you want to do this? I'm telling you, that whole thing was definitely not your fault, and it's hard to come by so much money. You could probably afford to get that new keyboard you've been wanting."

Peter hesitated, he hadn't thought of that. Then he shook his head. "I want to donate it," he said. "Even if stealing the ruby wasn't my fault, I don't really deserve the reward. You and Micky really did it all. I just stood there."

"Fair enough," Mike said as they took the exit to New Milford. "Just remember, Pete, it's not your fault."

* * *

While Mike and Peter were gone, Micky was sitting at the kitchen table, talking with Polly and Davy, when Marissa ran in through the back door, smiling. "Mama," she said. "Guess what!"

"What?" Polly asked her.

"The fair's in town!" Marissa exclaimed excitedly. "I saw the ferris wheel, and there's a clown, and that spinny ride that goes up, and there's all sorts of games and prizes, can we go, please? It looks so fun!"

"Yes, I'd heard it would be here this week," Polly said. "But I'm afraid I'm too busy to go today, sweetie. Maybe tomorrow."

Marissa sighed. "Okay," she said. Then she saw Micky and Davy, and her face brightened. "Mama," She said, running up and climbing into Micky's lap. "Maybe Davy and Uncle Micky could take me!"

"Wait a minute, 'Uncle' Micky!?" Davy exclaimed, while Micky grinned smugly.

"What can I say?" He said. "Kids love me."

"Don't feel bad, Davy," Marissa said. "Peter's my brother, Mike's my new brother, Micky can be my uncle, and you're my best friend. I love all of you the same, just in different styles and stuff."

Davy looked down at her suspiciously, having seen firsthand how manipulative she could be, but didn't say anything.

"Marissa, you can't just expect the boys to go with you everywhere," Polly said. "Maybe they have plans."

"Oh, it's no bother," Micky said, still grinning. "I wouldn't mind going to a fair, and I love playing with Marissa. I'd be glad to take her!"

"Me too!" Davy said, not willing to be outdone by Micky. "We could spend the morning there, and be back by lunch!"

"Well, I suppose if you really want to," Polly said. "I don't really mind you boys taking her there. But maybe you should wait until Peter and Mike get back. I'm sure they'd love to go with you."

"Yeah," Marissa said. "We going to wait until Petah and Mike get back!"

Micky sighed. "I guess so," he said. "I was hoping to be your favorite this trip, though."

"Silly Uncle Micky," Marissa said, smiling and shaking her head. "No favorites. That's no fun at all."

Micky got the strangest feeling that Marissa was toying with him, but shook it off. She was four years old, she was practically a baby. She couldn't be _that _manipulative.

He was distracted from his thoughts as the front door opened and Mike came in, followed by Peter. Micky smiled, Peter seemed to have gotten over his mood from earlier, whatever Mike had said while they were out had done him a world of good.

"Petah! Mike!" Marissa squealed in delight, jumping down from Micky's lap in favor of running over to the two boys and demanding to be picked up by Peter.

Polly smiled. "You boys are spoiling her," she said. "And let me tell you, she is milking it!"

At the door, Marissa was informing Mike and Peter of their plans to go to the fair, and they both agreed that it sounded fun, so the four boys and Marissa donned their jackets and walked over to the fair.

* * *

"Alright," Mike said, walking up to the group after buying some tickets. "I've got the tickets, where do ya'll wanna go first?"

"That one," Marissa said, pointing towards a tilt-a-whirl a short distance away.

"I think we should ride all of them," Micky said, glancing at a food kiosk nearby. "And then I want to get some fair-food. Those bratwurst are smelling pretty good."

"Alright," Mike said. "Let's go."

They only took a few steps, however, before they were interrupted by a sudden blur, and Peter was knocked to the ground. "Ugh," he said. "Hello, Pointy."

"Hello, Pete!" The young man said, reaching his hand down to help Peter to his feet before it registered to the Monkees what had even happened.

Peter stood up and brushed the dust off his shirt. "I wish you would just come up and talk to me like a normal person," He said.

"And I wish I could figure out why you expect me to stop," Pointy said with a grin. "It's too much fun. Plus, you're the only person who's never punched me for running into you repeatedly."

"I don't understand," Davy said. "Why do you insist on running into people?"

"Because he likes puns," Peter said grimly.

"Uh, what?" Micky asked in confusion.

"I like saying that I ran into old friends," Pointy explained. "It's just about as funny as saying that I 'got over' my fear of hurdles, or that knowing sign language is a 'handy' skill to have."

"You're never gonna let me live that last one down, are you?" Peter asked.

Pointy grinned. "Nope," he said. "I would sign something to attest to that fact, but I gotta hand it to you, my language skills are all write at best."

"Oh, wow," Mike said, staring at Pointy. "That was horrible."

"It was, wasn't it?" Pointy said with a grin. "Well, at any rate, I see you brought Marissa. She's probably waiting to try out a few rides, so I won't keep you waiting. Hey, can I hang out with you guys for awhile? I've got some time to kill."

"I guess that would be alright," Micky said.

"Thanks," Pointy said. "There's safety in numbers, and all that."

"What?" Davy asked as they all walked over to the ride.

"Well, if time found out I was killing it, it might get ticked off," Pointy explained. "And then it's only a matter of time before it gets it's hands on you, and then BAM! Time's up."

The Monkees all exchanged glances. This was going to get real tiresome real fast.


	14. The Fiasco at the Town Fair

As they walked up to the first ride and got in line, Pointy moved to stand near the exit and wait for them. "Aren't you going to ride?" Micky asked him.

"Nah," Pointy said. "I don't like lines. To be perfectly straight with you, I prefer coloring outside of them."

"Oh, alright," Micky said. "Suit yourself. You're missing out!"

"I have a tailor," Pointy informed them. "And I get sick on spinny rides."

"Now see, there's a real answer," Davy said.

"Watch yourself," Pointy said with a smile. "You look like the kinda guy to get sick yourself."

"What?" Davy said. "No, I never get sick on spinny rides! I used to ride these all the time when I was a kid!"

"So did I, but times change," Pointy said. "You never know when what you did as a kid can affect you as an adult. But hey, try it out. When you come out too queasy to stand up straight, don't say I didn't warn you."

Davy frowned, but obstinately went on the ride anyway.

* * *

"Are you alright there, Davy?" Peter asked as they all stepped off.

"Of course I am," Davy said, clutching his stomach. "It's just the power of suggestion, that's all."

"I suggest you find a trash can then," Mike said. "You're turning green."  
Davy nodded and stumbled over to the trash can placed conveniently by the ride as Pointy sighed. "Tough luck," he said. "I feel for you, man. I used to love these things."

They continued going through the fair and riding every ride, but Davy didn't ride another spinning one. After about half an hour, they had sampled each ride, and had run out of tickets.

So they decided to walk around and look at all the exhibits. At some point, Marissa had attached herself to Mike's leg, and was riding it as he walked alongside everyone else.

As they walked through the art exhibit, Micky stopped and stared up at a painting of a llama with hair that could have come straight off one of the Beatles. The background behind the llama's head was smoky and out of focus, and there was a slight sheen surrounding it. A rainbow was playing across the painting, making the whole affect rather trippy.

"Wow," Micky said. "That is one psychedelic llama."

Mike stopped and looked at the painting himself. "Whoa," he said. "That is one psychedelic llama."

"I beg your pardon?" A nearby woman asked suspiciously. "Do I know you?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so," Mike said in confusion.

"Are you my contact?" The woman said. "I wasn't supposed to meet you until the confectioner's exhibit!"

"Look, lady, we don't know you," Micky said.

"But you used my code-name," The woman said. "I'm Agent Psychedelic Llama, here to stop the Black Rose's duck-pond op."

"You're Agent- Oh, now isn't that a coincidence," Mike said. "We were talking about this painting!" He pointed to the painting, and the woman blinked.

"Wow," she said. "That is one psychedelic llama. I can see why you'd be confused." Then something seemed to occur to her, and she forced a laugh. "Boy," she said. "I sure had you guys fooled with that whole "Agent here to stop a gang op" thing," she said. "I'm not a gang-member! Don't be so silly!"

"Don't worry, we won't squeal," Mike said with a sigh. "We know all about the Good-Guys gang. Your secret's safe with us."

"Hey guys," Davy said, walking up to them, followed by Peter and Pointy. "What are you doing hanging around?" Davy quipped.

"Wait," Agent Psychedelic Llama interrupted, looking at Mike. "You know about the Good Guys Gang?" She looked down at Marissa and then nodded, as if she understood something now.

Davy and Peter frowned, and Pointy gaped. "What!?" he asked, looking between Mike and the Agent. "The Good Guys Gang? Aren't they those people down in Waterbury, always on the news or something? I thought they were more of an East Coast thing. How long have you guys known about 'em?"

"We ran into them on the train to Abilene," Mike said.

"Oh," Pointy said. "Well, you'd better be careful, those guys are bad news!"

"Hey, watch it," Agent Psychedelic Llama said, looking up from Marissa. "You're talking to bad news right now."

Pointy stared. "You're a member of the gang!?" He asked in surprise.

"Yep," Agent Psychedelic Llama. "But I'll tell you who's even more bad news: The group of Black Rose gang members running the Duck Pond. Those guys are the real trouble."

"There's Black Rose members here at the fair!?" Peter asked worriedly. "What are they doing here?"

"What do you think?" Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "They're here to try and figure out who Mr. Best is. About six months ago, they figured out that the second in command made frequent reports here in Kent. Ever since, they've been staking out the place. That's why I'm so important. Agent Psychedelic Llama, head of security. Protecting Mr. Best is my job."

She looked down at Marissa and sighed. "And that means I know who his family is," She said, looking back at Mike. "So you boys had better be careful."

"What does that mean?" Pointy asked.

"It means, My job is to keep the identity of Mr. Best and his family a secret," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "But you never know when someone will get tipped off and figure out who they are."

"Wait," Pointy said, looking at the agent, his eyes wide. "You mean... Mr. Best's family is here at the fair!?"

"I didn't say that," Agent Psychedelic Llama said, looking at Pointy. "I just said you boys need to be careful. There are a lot of dangerous people here at the fair. I just don't want to see any innocent bystanders get hurt. Since these boys knew about the gang, having run into them in Abilene, I thought it only fair to warn them not to take this little girl over there, as there might be trouble later."

"Oh," Pointy said with a frown. "Oh... That makes sense, I guess. Wow guys, real gang members are here at the fair! Isn't that exciting?"

"Very," Micky said dryly. "I for one, don't find life or death situations very fun at all. We should head back now, before anything happens."

"Smart kid," Agent Psychedelic Llama said, giving Micky a half-smile. "In the meantime, I must be going. Good luck."

She left, and the Monkees all looked at each other and sighed. "Well," Mike said. "I suppose we should go home, then."

"Nonsense!" Pointy exclaimed. "Just because there are gang-members over at the duck pond doesn't mean there'll be a shoot-out around every corner!"

Mike hesitated. The wisest thing to do would be to head home, but Pointy had a... point. Oh great, now he had Mike doing it.

Not to mention, Mike's paranoia levels had doubled since the start of this trip. They had no way of knowing how many members of the Black-Rose gang were around, or if any were watching the Monkees already. They had probably raised quite a racket with all the involvement they'd gotten into on the train, and with them having caused Tasha to go to jail the night before, people were bound to be suspicious. If they left too quickly after being seen with the head of the Good Guys Gang security, would it tip somebody off?

Finally, he sighed, wishing again that he didn't have to be in charge all the time. "Fine," he said. "Well stay for another half-hour or so. But let's stay far away from the duck pond, and let's not go to the confectioner's exhibit either. We'll look at all the animals, and then we'll go home."

"Got it," Micky said, glancing over his shoulder. Davy and Peter looked nervously around them too.

"Golly," Pointy said, looking at them all in amazement. "It's just some gang running a duck pond. Are you guys all chickens or something?"

"Not anymore, but the oath still stands," Micky said seriously. "Chickens, unite!"

Everyone clucked for good measure.

"Wow," Pointy said. "And here I thought I was crazy. Hey! Let's go to the poultry exhibit! Maybe you guys'll find a few relatives. And hey,if any gang-members show up, you can make a hasty egg-sit no problem."

He laughed at his own joke and led the way from the art exhibit, the Monkees rolling their eyes and following cautiously.

* * *

It wasn't long before Marissa got tired of looking at animals, so as Davy and Micky headed off to examine the horses, and as Peter and Pointy went to go look at the first prize pig named Porky, a rather large animal belonging to a local farmer named Peter Percival Patterson, Mike purchased two ice creams and sat down with Marissa, handing one to her.

"Thanks, Mike," Marissa said, taking the ice cream and licking it excitedly.

They sat in silence for a little while, and watched as people went by, enjoying the fair.

Suddenly, something seemed to click in Mike's brain, that something wasn't completely right. Looking around, he couldn't spot anything wrong, but there was definitely something... off.

"Well, we should probably go gather the others and head back for lunch," He said, standing up casually. "Ready to go, Marrisa?"

"Yes," the little girl said, standing up reluctantly. "Can't we stay a little longer, Mike? Please?"

Mike smiled. "No," he said. "We really should head back... what in the world?"

He frowned in confusion as more and more people began to gather at the door of the building housing all the pigs. "There's something strange going on here," he said. "Marissa, we're going to go find Davy and Micky, and then you're going to stay with Davy while Micky and I go get Peter, alright?"

"Alright," Marissa said, looking at the now sizeable crowd with a touch of concern in her eyes. "Let's hurry," she suggested, taking Mike's hand.

Together, they hurried to the horse exhibit, which was surprisingly empty and clearing out fast. Micky and Davy were at the far end, examining one of the horses and completely oblivious to the other people all leaving the room.

"Davy, Micky," Mike said quietly, but urgently, as he and Marissa approached the pair. "Something's going on. I don't know what it is, but a crowd's gathering around the pig exhibits, and Peter isn't back yet."

"What?" Micky said as he and Davy began walking back towards the entrance with Mike and Marissa. "Do you think it has something to do with the gang?"

"I don't know," Mike said. "I didn't want to investigate with Marissa. Davy, I want you to take Marissa and go back to the house. Micky and I are gonna go find Peter. We'll meet you there."

"But I want to help," Davy insisted. "Why're you sending me back to the house? Is it because I'm short?"

"No," Mike said. "It's because we need to get Marissa to safety, and frankly, I don't want you to get hurt either."

"Gee, thanks Mike," Micky said dryly.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Mike said. "I don't want anybody to get hurt."

"So why single me out, huh?" Davy demanded. "You could send Micky home with Marissa, and I could help you just as easily! I might be the youngest-"

"And the smallest," Micky added helpfully.

"But that doesn't mean I'm weak!" Davy finished, ignoring Micky's addition.

"I don't think you're weak, Davy," Mike said. "In fact, I want you to take Marissa home because you're not weak. Someone needs to be able to protect her if you're followed. Going home isn't any less dangerous than staying here, at least, not until you actually get home."

Davy pursed his lips, then sighed. "Fine," he said. "Just... Be careful, alright? I don't like splitting up when something big's going down."

"Me either, Tiny," Mike said. "Now, go on and get Marissa home. Marissa, you stay with Davy and do what he says, alright?"

Marissa nodded solemnly and took Davy's hand. Together, they walked quickly towards the admissions gate, out of sight.

"Alright," Mike said, turning to Micky. "Let's go in there and find out what this is all about."

"Got it," Micky said. "Try to act casual."

Together, they walked over to the crowd of people and began pushing their way through, trying to get to what appeared to be the center of the commotion, about halfway up the building. Finally reaching the front, they saw what had the crowd so riled up. Three men Mike and Micky had never seen before were lying unconscious in one of the unused stalls. Peter and Pointy were nowhere to be seen. A few policemen were trying to revive the men, slowly getting them up and handcuffing their hands behind their backs. Several other policemen were trying to keep the crowd at bay, while a few people were taking pictures of the scene.

"What happened?" Micky wondered aloud, but Mike couldn't answer him. He looked around, scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of where Peter went.

One of the men started to groan then, and the crowd got excited again.

"Everybody, calm down," one of the policemen said. "We've got this situation under control."

The man opened his eyes and took in his situation. A slow grin came onto his face. "Yeah," he said. "Copper's got this under control."

"Mr. Gang member," one man said, holding up a pencil and notepad. With a jolt, Mike realized he was from the press. "Are you from the Black Rose or the Good Guys gang?"

"Black Rose, Proudly," the man said.

"And what were you doing here today?" The reporter asked.

"What do you think we're doing here?" The man said. "We're looking for Junior Best."

That stirred up the crowd.

"Mr. Gang member!" Another reporter said. "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"You heard me," the man said. "We're looking for Junior Best!"

"You mean Mr. Best has an heir?" The first reporter said.

The man nodded. "And we will find him," he said.

"Mr. Gang member," said yet another reporter, while Mike and Micky watched in stunned silence. "Do you know the identity of Mr. Best?"

Mike and Micky froze, holding their breath.

"No," the man said. Mike and Micky let out a breath of relief. "We just know that his son was definitely here today."

"How can you prove that?" The reporter asked.

"Sir, I need you to remain silent and come with me," the police officer said, beginning to lead the man away, while other policemen tried to clear the crowds.

"What are we going to do?" Micky whispered in a panic.

"Well," Mike whispered back as the crowds all followed the policemen leading away the three members. "First things first, we need to find Peter. How did he escape from those guys without them noticing?"

"He had a little help," someone whispered behind them.

"AHHHH!" Mike and Micky both yelled, whirling around and jumping back a few steps.

"Agent Psychedelic Llama," Mike said in relief. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to scare you. Peter's safe, along with his friend. I discovered that someone tipped off those men that he would be in the pig exhibit, so I rushed over to stop them. I got there just in time to get the boys away without being seen, then when back to take care of the thugs."

"Wow, you really saved him back there then," Mike noted.

"It's all part of the job," Agent Psychedelic Llama said, leading them silently away from the pig exhibit and towards an old storage building near the back of the fair. "Mr. Best filled me in on the situation the moment he heard you were coming down. He wanted to make sure I knew to protect you boys as well as him, his wife, and his daughter."

"Well, thanks," Micky said. "Hey, do you know if Davy got out safe with Marissa, then?"

"He's fine," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "I sent a security detail to escort them the rest of the way. They're both going to be perfectly safe."

"That's good," Mike said. "I really didn't like sending him away by himself, but I had no idea what we could be dealing with."

"You did good," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "Exactly what I would have done had I been in your place. Here we are."

She led them behind the building, where Peter and Pointy were sitting against the wall with another guy. "Thanks, Agent Silver Spoon," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "I'll take it from here."

The man nodded and left, and Peter stood up. "Guys!" He said. "You're safe! I was so worried, I thought maybe something would happen to you before Agent Psychedelic Llama found you!"

"I'm still not sure why she went to all this trouble for people who just ran into the gang a few days ago," Pointy said. "Or why it's so important to you guys that we stay away from everything that might be involved. But, who am I to judge? Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough of hiding behind buildings and sneaking away from people who probably don't know me from beans anyway. Can I go?"

"You're excused," Agent Psychedelic Llama said.

"Finally," Pointy said with a pout. "You know, fairs are supposed to be good ol' fashioned fun. This is more of a bad gangster movie!"

With that, Pointy walked away, muttering to himself and turning to glance behind at them a few times.

"I can't say I'm sorry to see him go," Micky said.

"Micky, be nice," Peter said, although he was grinning. "This has all been very confusing to him. Considering his personality anyway, I'm surprised he handled it as well as he did."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like him," Micky said, frowning.

"Come on, boys," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "I have to get you back to the house before the police get too close."

"No argument there," Micky said. "Although, I've been on the run from lots of people, the police aren't usually one of them."


	15. Junior's Big Debut

Agent Psychedelic Llama stayed with them in the house until Howie got home. She had a security detail with her, two Agents code-named Agent Zipper and Agent Flashlight to stand guard inside the house, and Agent Black Key and Agent Green Lamp patrolling outside. Polly tried to treat it like business as usual, but as she cleaned house and took care of Marissa, it was obvious to all of the Monkees that she was anxious about the whole thing.

As for the Monkees themselves, they sat in the living room and said nothing, each of them thinking about what had happened. Micky fidgeted nervously, glancing at all the windows in the living room repeatedly, as if he thought someone would come bursting through them. Davy was alternating between sitting quietly to stare at the wall and pacing up and down the living room, while Mike sat on the couch and glared at the floor, his arms folded, trying to think of a way out of this.

Peter was doing a mixture of the three; he would stare at the wall, get up and pace, frown in thought, and glance at the window whenever he heard a noise.

And so the afternoon wore on.

* * *

Nearing five o'clock, everyone stiffened as they heard a car pull into the driveway and park. A car door opened and slammed shut, and footsteps ran quickly up to the back door. Agent Psychedelic Llama put her hand on her gun, but didn't look too concerned. There was a knock at the door in very unusual pattern, eight knocks in succession, then two, then two more. Agent Psychedelic Llama took her hand away from the holster and moved to keep watching the front door as Howie unlocked the back door and stepped in.

"Howie!" Peter said, standing up. "They know about me!"

"I know, Peter," Howie said wearily, dropping a newspaper onto the coffee table. "Read the front page."

The Monkees all moved to read the headline.

_**GANG MEMBER REVEALS STARTLING NEWS ABOUT "JUNIOR" BEST**_

"Oh no," Mike said, as everyone stared at the paper in shock. "This is bad."

"Keep reading, it gets worse," Howie said. So they all looked down and began to read the article.

_Authorities were baffled when, at the town fair this morning, three known criminals from the notorious Black Rose Gang were found unconscious in one of the exhibit buildings. The criminals, Thomas "Chain-man" Harrison, Cedric "Tooth-Champ" Pots and James "Jamie" Jameson, claimed that they were at the fair to run an operation from the Duck Pond when they discovered some startling news._  
_Deputy Mitchell, the arresting officer, comments: "After interrogating the criminals, we have reason to believe that the town of Kent is in considerable danger. Not only have we attracted the attention of dangerous men such as Chain-man, Tooth-Champ, and Jamie, but we have now been told that the leader of their rival gang, Mr. Best, has been paying us a few visits as well."_  
_When asked about the rumor that Mr. Best is training up an heir for his empire of crime, the deputy comments: "We can neither confirm nor deny the claims given by these three criminals, but we are investigating the possibility."_  
_When arrested, Cedric Pots claimed that Mr. Best's son, "Junior" Best, was definitely at the fair this afternoon, and expressed on behalf of his gang that the young heir to this national crime syndicate would be found._  
_"We're at the scene of a gang-war," Thomas Killigan, police chief, states. "It's a scary thought, but true. Even if Mr. Best turns out to have nothing to do with Kent, The Black Rose gang are making it clear that they're going to search this town top to bottom."_  
_Authorities assure us that they will do everything they can to protect the town and it's citizens from such an occurrence, but advise people to stay indoors at all times. A reward of 500 dollars has been issued for anyone with information on the whereabouts of either gang, and of 1,000 dollars for any regarding Mr. Best or his son, Junior._

The Monkees all stared in shock at the newspaper, and Peter groaned.

"The news is all over town," Howie said. "Police are poking around everywhere, but that's the least of our problems. All of the Agents who know my identity, I trust to keep it a secret from the cops, and any members of the Black Rose gang who might know would rather take it upon themselves to bring me to justice than to let the cops handle it. So the cops don't have any leads on me. What concerns me is that those members of the Black Rose gang knew about Peter. If they knew about Peter, they must've had an informant. So they probably know about me."

"But that gang member said he didn't know your identity," Micky pointed out.

"Yeah, but he was talking to reporters and the police," Howie said. "And even if he was telling the truth, he's one of the flunkies. Just because those three didn't know my identity doesn't mean no one in his gang does. They've been on to Mr. Best for months, they know I work from Kent, they've been examining every business in town, trying to find the front for the gang. They've never been close to finding my identity before, but how else could they have known that Peter was in the pig exhibit? It doesn't make any sense! They had to have known that it's me. Sammy's clearing out the store front right now, any evidence of our operating from there will be gone by ten o'clock tonight."

"Are we going to have to move?" Polly asked. "I know, it's probably a silly question, but if we do, I want to get started packing right away."

"Go ahead and pack some things in case we need to make a quick getaway," Howie said. "But we can't skip town now. It'd be too suspicious, with the police poking around everywhere. We'd have to wait a few weeks to be safe."

"What about us?" Mike asked. "I know this might be the wrong time, but I'd kinda like to get back to Malibu as soon as possible."

"Of course," Howie said. "You'd still have to wait a few days, just so it doesn't look too suspicious. But with enough Agents on the train, and in the police force, we could probably get you out of Kent and safely on your way back to Malibu."

"Thank you," Mike said. "Because, really, it's been very nice meeting you both, and we all love Marissa. But things are beginning to spiral."

"Mike-and-Ike, you shouldn't say 'spiral'," Howie said absently. "Because that means we're careening out of control and falling right out of the sky, and I don't particularly like the mental image that produces."

"You're right, sorry," Mike said. "What should we do for the next few days?"

"Just stay put, don't leave the house," Howie said. "No one will think anything of it, as everyone's been advised to remain indoors anyway. I've closed the store front, under the pretense of a fear of gang activity. Once Sammy is done clearing out the back room, there won't be any evidence of illegal activity, and that should appease the cops. Anything we miss, well, our inside man will take care of that."

The phone rang then, and Howie rushed over to pick it up. "Hello, you've reached the Bessetti residence, Howie speaking." He paused for a moment. "Ah, yes, the bakery downtown. How's business?" He waited a little longer, the Monkees watching him. "What!?" He demanded, going pale. "Oh, oh, I see... Um, okay, I"ll come pick it up right now."

He hung up the phone. "Who was that?" Davy asked.

"That was the bakery downtown," Howie said, opening the door and beckoning for Agent Psychedelic Llama. "They're calling about my order for ten frosted cupcakes. Apparently, the delivery's been interrupted, so I have to go pick them up myself."

Agent Psychedelic Llama nodded briskly and pulled her gun out of its holster before turning to wait by the back door.

"What does all that mean?" Micky asked.

"It means that Agent Cupcake called," Howie explained, crossing the room and picking up his jacket. "The store front is under attack, the Black Rose gang have it surrounded and are going to move in quickly. Sammy doesn't have enough fire power with him; this was supposed to be a quick job. He needs back up."

"So you're going down there alone!?" Polly asked, grabbing Howie's arm as he walked towards the back door. "But it's dangerous!"

"I won't be alone," Howie promised. "I'm taking Agent Psychedelic Llama with me, and Agent Black Key. We're going to pick up a few agents on the way, we'll be perfectly fine. We just have to drive out enough of the Black Rose members to get our men out, then we'll come right back here, I promise."

"Alright," Polly said quietly, letting go of Howie's arm. "But you'd better not break that promise!"

Howie smiled. "I won't," he said, jumping up onto an end table and pushing up a ceiling tile. Reaching behind it, he pulled a gun out and replaced the tile.

"You keep a gun in the house?" Peter asked in surprise.

Howie looked at him. "...It's just a safety precaution," he said. "For emergencies only. It's all part of the job."

Peter didn't look reassured. "...Right," he said. "Howie, be careful, alright?"

"Don't worry, Peg-leg-Pete," Howie said with a lopsided grin. "I still haven't heard you sing. Wouldn't wanna miss out on that. Hold down the fort 'til I get back, alright?"

With that, he left through the back door. After a few moments, they heard the sound of the car engines start and drive away.

* * *

If the Monkees had been anxious before, it was nothing compared to the way they felt now. They didn't even dare leave the living room, and all the lights were still off. Marissa was asleep on Polly's lap, she'd been tired out by all the stress of the evening. Peter sat straight up in one of the chairs, staring at the window that faced the street, even though he couldn't see through it as the curtains were drawn. He didn't move or talk, even when the others tried to get him to, and Micky was reminded of the time when the Evil Wizard Glick had hypnotized him through the power of the Frodis on television.

As ten o'clock crept closer and closer, and there was still no sign of Howie, their tensions rose. Finally, Mike couldn't take any more. "I'm gonna go see if there's been any news," he whispered to Davy, who nodded.

Standing up, Mike began to quietly make his way to the door of the living room, Agent Zipper would be in the hall, patrolling the house.

"Where are you going?" Micky whispered from beside Peter, who didn't seem to notice.

"I'm gonna go ask Agent Zipper if he's heard anything," Mike whispered back.

"Oh, okay," Micky said. "Hey, if he's in the kitchen, would you bring me back a sandwich and a glass of water?"

"Micky, this is no time to worry about your stomach," Mike said.

"It's not for me," Micky said, irritation flashing through his eyes. "It's for Peter. Maybe if he got something to eat..."

Mike rubbed his eyes with his hands. Of course that's what Micky meant. "Of course," he said. "I'm sorry, Mick, I guess we're all a little on edge here."

"That's okay," Micky whispered. "Although, really, it wouldn't hurt if all of us got something to eat. I don't think anyone's eaten since breakfast."

"You're right," Mike said. "I'll see what I can do."

With that, he crept out into the hallway. He found Agent Zipper, who was standing next to the front window, gun drawn, peering through the curtains.

"Hey," Mike whispered loudly, making sure to get the Agent's attention without sneaking up on him. One thing he knew about men with guns: You never want to startle one.

Agent Zipper glanced at him and nodded for him to come forward. Mike walked quickly and quietly up to him. "Any news?" He whispered.

Agent Zipper shook his head. "It looks quiet out there," he said. "Green Lamp and Flashlight are still patrolling the house from outside, they haven't reported any sign of trouble. Nobody's got back to us on the situation at the store front, though."

Mike nodded. "Is it alright if I go get some food from the kitchen?" He asked.

Agent Zipper nodded. "I'll come with you, just to be safe," he said. "The back door's in the kitchen, we wouldn't want anyone surprising you there. How good are you at getting food with all the lights off?"

"Well, let's hope I'm naturally gifted," Mike said. "I've never had experience with such matters."

They made their way to the kitchen, where Mike began carefully making sandwiches, pressing down the switch in the refrigerator to turn off the light. After the sandwiches were made, he was about to search the cupboards for glasses when there was suddenly a loud crash from the window on the kitchen door. Glass from the window flew everywhere as Mike ducked down behind the counter. He heard shots, Agent Zipper was shooting first, asking questions later. A few shots were returned and the Agent let out a yell, he'd been hit.

Agent Flashlight came into the room then, and ducked behind the refrigerator, shooting his own gun into the door. "Go back to the living room," he called to Mike. "Now, before they get in!"

Mike stood up and ran into the hallway, Agent Green Lamp was guarding the front door. "What happened!?" He demanded.

"I'm not sure," Mike said, running down the hall towards the living room. "The window in the door was shot up, whoever's coming shot Zipper!"

"No!" Agent Green Lamp said. "This is why we should be allowed to have real guns! I_ told_ them, I told them just a bang and some smoke wouldn't work in situations like this!"

"You're telling me," Mike said, opening the door to the living room and stepping inside.

He was immediately met with a tackling hug, the sound of the gunshots had brought Peter out of his trance and now all three of the other Monkees were hugging him.

"Mike, what happened!?" Davy demanded, all of them releasing him and taking a step back. Polly was standing nearby as well, holding Marissa, who was awake now and looking scared.

"I'll tell you all about it, but now we have to barricade the door," Mike said. The Monkees made quick work of it, piling the couches, the bookcase, the end tables, the stage equipment, and the stage lights all against the door at a speed that some would say was impossible.

"There, now that's done," Micky said. "Tell us what's going on!"

"Well-" Mike started.

CRASH!

Everyone ducked down instinctively as several men with guns came in through the window. Mike groaned, they had just sealed off their only means of escape.

"EVERYONE GET ON THE FLOOR!" One of the men yelled, shooting his gun into the air a few times. Everyone sat down on the floor.

"Oh, please, don't kill us!" Micky said. "We're nobodies, just humble musicians!"

"Quiet," the man barked, leveling his gun at Micky, who promptly shut his mouth. The man smiled. "Now then," he said, pointing his gun at Peter as his men covered the rest of them. "You, Junior, get up."

Peter stood shakily to his feet.

"Put your hands up," The man said, and Peter obliged. "You're coming with us."

Peter frowned. "You- you're not gonna kill me?" He asked.

"Shut up!" The man said. "Now, slowly, no sudden movements, walk over to your mother there and get your sister."

Peter froze. "...What?" He asked.

"Do I have to spell it out for you, stupid?" The man yelled angrily. "Go over there and get the little girl! You're coming with us!"

Peter stood his ground. "Please," he said. "Leave her out of it. She doesn't have anything to do with any of this. I'll come with you, but please, let her stay."

"Peter, no!" Davy exclaimed.

"SHUT UP!" The man yelled, pointing his gun at Davy this time. Then he smiled. "Here's the new deal," he said, turning his gun to Marissa, who gasped and hid her face in Polly's shoulder. "You go and get your baby sister," the man said. "Or I'll shoot."

Peter hesitated, but the man cocked the gun, so he stepped quickly in the line of fire between the weapon and Marissa, then began walking slowly towards Polly. "I'm sorry," he said, bending down and picking up Marissa. Polly just nodded. "It's not your fault, Peter," she whispered bravely as he stood up, holding Marissa.

Then he turned to the man. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."

"Rex, Georgie, Alfonso," the man said. "Escort these two to the cars."

Three of the men trained their weapons on Peter and roughly helped him out the window, following behind him.

"Now," the man said, pointing his gun around at the other Monkees. "How do I know you boys won't try to follow us?" All the other men in the room, each of them pointing their guns at a different target, cocked their weapons.

"Uh, because!" Mike said quickly, trying to come up with a reason to convince them to leave without killing everyone. "Because, uh, well, because... because we're all chickens! And um, we have to have a very long club meeting before we decide to do anything that might put us, in harm's way. Not to mention, since none of us have weapons, or training in hand-to-hand combat, or a strategy of any kind, we would have to regroup and rethink anything we come up with, uh, before we could even try."

"True," the man said, smiling. "But I'd like something a bit more substantial. I'm not a bad guy, really. I might not be a Good Guy, but I'm not evil." He lost his smile and turned to all of his men. "Knock 'em out," he said, turning to climb through the window. Mike looked up at the man nearest him and swallowed. The man grinned before raising his gun. Mike closed his eyes. Then he felt a jarring pain in his skull and saw stars. _Huh... how cliche..._ He thought as everything went black and he knew no more.


	16. The Thorn of the Black Rose

As Peter was led to the cars, still carrying Marissa, He listened for any sound from the house. There were no more gunshots, the two Agents must have been taken out. Peter felt sick.

One of the men opened a car door and motioned with his gun for Peter to get in, but Peter hesitated, glancing back towards the house. He just wanted to wait for a second more, he wanted to hear if there were any more gunshots.

"Get in the car," the man barked. "Or I'll make you!"

Peter turned back around and carefully climbed into the car, still holding Marissa. The door on the other side of the car opened and one of the other men came in and sat down next to him. Peter sat in the middle and held Marissa on his lap while the first guy climbed in and sat down on his other side, shutting the door behind him.

The other man got into the drivers seat and started the engine, and then they waited for a few moments before the door to the passenger seat opened and the first guy, the man who had jumped through the window, got in.

"We're clear," he said. "But we need to be as fast and as quiet as possible. Keep all the lights off."

"Yes, boss," the driver said, shifting gears and pulling away from the house.

No sooner had they got onto the street, however, when several black cars raced around the corner towards them, opening fire.

"Shoot!" The boss said. "Shoot, shoot, shoot!"

The driver hit the gas and turned the car into a skid, spinning it around and then speeding away from the cars. A few of them began to chase them.

"I SAID SHOOT," The boss yelled, pulling out his gun and rolling down his window.

The two thugs in the backseat realized what he meant and also pulled out their guns, rolling their windows down as well. Wind poured into the car as they sped down the street, the three gangsters leaning from the window and shooting at the cars behind them, then ducking back when fire was returned.

Peter shut his eyes and ducked his head, holding Marissa tightly as the car lurched and spun and the wind whipped onto their faces. Marissa let out a small yell at the sound of each gunshot, and Peter didn't know whether to wish for whoever was chasing them to hit their target or not. If the boss was stopped, maybe he and Marissa would get rescued. But whoever was chasing them had no way of knowing that he and Marissa were even in the car; if the car was taken out, it could crash, or roll over, or even catch fire. They could be hurt.

"Take a left turn here," the boss yelled over the noise. The driver turned down an alley, and sped through it. "Now turn left," the driver yelled. "And then turn left again. Hide in the old garage. I'll try to slow them down!"

Leaning back out the window, the boss shot several times in succession while the driver did as he was told. After three sharp turns, causing Peter to lurch heavily into one of the thugs beside him, the car screeched to a stop and all the gang members opened the doors and rushed out, slamming them behind them.

Peter turned around and looked out the back window, they were in some kind of a warehouse, and the thugs were pulling an old garage door shut, sealing the warehouse from the rest of the street.

Peter heard the sound of a car roar past the building, and felt his hopes of a quick rescue speed away right along with it.

The four gang members all laughed quietly, and then walked back to the car.

Opening the door, the boss grabbed Peter's arm and pulled him out of the car, then he took Marissa away from him and nodded to the two thugs, who promptly began tying his hands behind his back while the driver put a gag in his mouth.

"Alright, Junior," the boss said. "Here's what's gonna happen. We're going to wait here for the night, until things have calmed down. Then, we're going to take you and your sister over to HQ to meet Mr. Thorn. If you try to run away, I will shoot the girl. If you try to send for help, I will shoot the girl. If you so much as try to speak, I will shoot the girl. Do you understand?"

Peter nodded, and the two thugs led him to a small room in the back of the warehouse. Opening the door, they shoved him inside, and then shut the door behind him, sending the small room into utter darkness. With a click, the door was locked and Peter was alone.

* * *

Black. Everything was black. There was a rushing sound in his ears, pounding through his brain and drowning out all other sounds.

But wait... he thought he did hear something else...

The waters receded somewhat and he could definitely hear something over them. "...Micky..."

He tried moving, he felt a sudden pain in his head and he groaned.

"...think he's waking up... hear me? ...Micky, wake..."

He groaned again and lifted his hand to his head. What happened?

Suddenly everything came back to him and he started awake with a gasp.

"Micky, It's alright, you're safe," he heard. Looking up, he saw Howie looking down at him in concern. "How do you feel? What do you remember?"

Micky looked around, he was still in the living room, the furniture pushed away from the door and the window broken, glass everywhere. Mike and Davy were still unconscious, as was Polly. Peter and Marissa were nowhere to be seen.

Micky turned to Howie. "Peter," he said hoarsely. "They took Peter and Marissa."

Howie nodded. "I was afraid you were gonna say that," he said, looking exhausted. "Tell me everything. What happened?"

He helped Micky up and over to one of the chairs, pulling it free from the pile, he set it down and helped Micky sit in it.

"Well," Micky said. "We were all in the living room and Mike went to go ask if there'd been any news. Before he got back, someone shot up the kitchen door, so we barricaded the living room. Then someone shot up the window and a bunch of guys came in. They took Peter and Marissa and then they knocked us all out and left."

Howie nodded. "That makes sense," he said, beckoning an Agent to come over. "Now, Micky, this is Agent Bobsled, he's a doctor. He's going to look at your head and see how badly you were hurt, alright?"

Micky nodded. "What happened with you?" He asked. "You were gone for nearly five hours."

Howie sighed. "When we got to the store front, we were caught in an ambush," he said. "They pinned us down, but we held our ground. Finally managed to break away ten minutes ago, we pulled into the street and saw all the cars getting ready to drive away. I sent Agent Cupcake and Agent Psychedelic Llama to take their teams and give chase, while I came here to see what happened. We've been trying to revive you ever since."

The doctor shined a light in Micky's eyes, and then stood up. "You have a slight concussion," he said. "Sit here, get some rest. Don't move around too much, and you'll be fine."

Just then. Mike let out a groan, so Howie and the doctor turned their attentions to him. Micky looked around again, for the first time noticing how many agents were there. There were several agents pulling apart the pile of furniture, getting some of the chairs out and the two couches. A few agents were sweeping up all the broken glass, and a few agents were already replacing the broken window panes. One agent came over to Micky with a glass of water and a sandwich.

"We found these already made in the kitchen," she said, handing Micky the sandwich. "We figured you were probably hungry."

Micky thanked her and took the sandwich, but he'd lost his appetite. He was too worried about Peter to want to eat anything, so he took a few small bites to appease himself and then set it down. Mike was escorted to another chair, where he sat pensively staring at Davy, while the Doctor and Howie moved him and Polly to the couches.

After a minute, he caught Micky's eye and stood up, picking up his chair and moving it to be by Micky.

"Are you sure you should be moving around?" Micky asked. "The doctor told me not to move around too much."

"It'll take a lot more than a pistol-whipping to get me down," Mike said. "Besides, I never was one to follow doctor's orders."

He smiled for a second as if that were funny somehow, and then he frowned in confusion.

"...You alright?" Micky asked him.

"Hmm?" Mike said absently, turning towards him. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just worried about Peter, and Marissa, and Davy."

Micky glanced at Davy, who was still unconscious, and then looked away quickly.

Agent Psychedelic Llama came in then, and walked over to Howie. "We lost 'em," she said. "There were five cars total, we intercepted two of them. The occupants were knocked out and left on the doorstep of the police department. We lost three cars, but everyone got away. The car with the hostages escaped from sight."

Howie put his head in his hands and groaned, then he stood up. "Keep searching," he said. "Take two details with you, leave two here. I don't want them coming back for more. We'll search until midnight, by then, if we haven't found them, we won't be able to. We'll regroup then and decide what to do from there."

"Yes sir," Agent Psychedelic Llama said, calling a few agents to follow her as she left.

"Do you think they'll find him?" Micky asked, turning back to Mike.

"Well..." Mike said. "I don't know. But I do know one thing."

"What's that?" Micky asked.

"Peter has a knack for escaping from kidnappers," Mike said. "And Howie's not gonna take this lightly, either. As soon as we can, you can bet we're gonna go after those guys and get him back, safe and sound."

Micky nodded, but he didn't feel too reassured. Just then, Davy started waking up, and Mike stood up and went over to him, so Micky sighed and leaned back against his chair. He could only hope that Mike was right and Peter would be safe and sound when they got to him.

* * *

"Wake up!"

Peter jerked awake; he'd been dozing uncomfortably on and off all night, and now one of the thugs was pulling him up by his arm, which was still tied behind his back. Peter stood up, and the thug pulled him from the room and into the center of the warehouse. The boss was there, holding Marissa, and there were twice as many gang members as there had been the night before, as well as another car.

"Alright," the boss said. "Danny, Alfonso, Leo and Bryce, you're gonna take Junior and drive on up to HQ. Georgie, Freddie, and Rex, you're with me and Baby Girl here. It's 4:30, it'll be light in about a half-hour, so now's the best time to head out. The Agents will discover this joint as soon as they can use the skid marks of our tires to find out where we went, but we still need to leave a bit of a message for 'em."

Stepping forward, the boss yanked the peace beads from around Peter's neck and threw the broken string on the ground. "Now then," he said. "Load 'em into the cars, and let's move out!"

Peter was led to one of the cars and pushed into the back seat, in the middle again, with a gang member on each side, guns drawn in case they were followed.

Looking out the window, he watched as the boss climbed into the passenger seat in the other car, Marissa still on his lap. The door was shut, and the tinted windows blocked his view.

* * *

The Monkees were napping in the living room when the phone rang, startling them awake.

Howie rushed to answer it, and they all jumped up and crowded him, trying to listen in. "Hello?" He said. "...Ah yes... car trouble? Haha! ...We'll be right there."

He hung up the phone. "What, what was it?" Micky demanded excitedly.

"Agent Psychedelic Llama found an abandoned garage just now," he said. "She's sure they were there at least half an hour ago, and one of the cars had a motor-oil leak. We'll be able to follow the trail straight to them."

"Yes!" Micky exclaimed. "Let's go, Peter could be hurt!"

"I couldn't agree more," Howie said, getting his jacket. "We're gonna meet Psychedelic Llama at the scene, and go from there. Come on, boys, we've got a gang to stop!"

* * *

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Peter had been in the garage. When they saw the broken peace beads on the floor, Mike, Micky and Davy all let out an angry yell and resolved even more to find Peter before anything bad happened to him. Mike picked up the peace beads and gave them to Micky to hold, angrily stating that he wanted to "break a bit of peace" himself. Then they all piled into the cars and started slowly following the trail of motor-oil from the Black Rose car.

* * *

The Black Rose cars drove out of Kent and into the forest for about half an hour before stopping in front of an abandoned building.

Peter was pulled out of the car and led towards the front door. He managed to turn enough to glance behind him and see the boss still holding Marissa before he was yanked forward again and pushed through the doors. Inside was a large open area, with clamps and cranes and claws hanging from the roof. There were piles of logs everywhere, and all sorts of instruments and machines designed to debark trees. It was an old lumbermill.

There were members of the Black Rose gang everywhere, up on catwalks, leaning against the walls, guarding the doors... and there were several members standing guard over the man sitting on a throne of crates, looking down at Peter with a grin. "Take the gag off," he ordered, and the gag was removed.

Peter's jaw dropped, and his eyes opened wide as he looked up at the man who was obviously the one and only Mr. Thorn. "...Pointy!?" He asked in surprise.

Pointy grinned. "At your service," he said. "So, Peter, how ya been? Steal any rubies lately? Intercept any information? Imprison any of my gang? Because you've been causing quite a racket lately."

"But- I don't understand," Peter said. "How can you be Mr. Thorn!?"

"Oh, it's simple, really," Pointy said. "You see, I went off to college after senior year, and in college, I learned something very important. Money is everything. So I started trying to get more and more money. Then I met a few people, started hanging with the wrong crowd, and we decided to start a gang. Then those pesky Good Guys showed up and started RUINING EVERYTHING!" Pointy stopped and took a few deep breaths, then smiled again. "And here we are, four years later," he said. "Mr. Thorn and Junior Best, old friends, now enemies. Isn't that, like, the best plot twist ever? Seriously, if this were story or a movie or something, that would be the major twist!"

"How did you know I was Junior Best?" Peter asked.

"Oh, that's simple too," Pointy explained. "About six months ago, we learned that Agent Cupcake, Mr. Best's right hand man, made trips down here to Kent a lot. Now, why would the second in command of a national crime syndicate frequent a little town like Kent? So I had a few teams move down here, to check things out. They reported a lot of suspicious activity, so I moved back down here myself, with a few more teams. It took a long time to narrow it down to a few more likely suspects. Then you came along, leaving a trail of gang activity in your wake. I was still suspicious of your father, so I decided to follow you around when I saw you at the fair. That sure paid off, that Agent obviously knew who you were, or at least, she knew Marissa. I arranged for the gang to come pay you a visit and lured you into the pig exhibit, but I didn't give your people as much credit as they deserved. But, staging that distraction on the store front paid off, and here you are now!"

Peter was stunned. All this time, Pointy had been using him to get to Howie. How could seven years have changed a man so much?

"What are you going to do with us?" He asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"Nothing," Pointy said.

Peter blinked, baffled. "...nothing?" He asked. "What do you mean, nothing?"

Pointy laughed. "I'm not just after you, Pete," he said. "I want the entire gang gone. You think your daddy's gonna just sit by while I have Junior and his precious Baby Girl? No, if I know Mr. Best, he's gonna be on his way here right now, with all of his top Agents in tow. We made sure of that, spilling a bit of motor oil on our way here. You're not important, Pete, you're just bait. Why kill the worm before the fish even get a chance to bite?"

Peter thought about this. Howie was on his way here, with all of his top agents. Would he have Mike, Micky and Davy with him? Almost certainly. They wouldn't sit by while Peter was held hostage. And they were all coming into a trap.

"I'm disappointed, Junior," Pointy said, pulling Peter away from his thoughts. "You haven't asked the best question yet."

Peter frowned. "What's the best question?" He asked.

Pointy sighed dramatically. "You're supposed to ask me why the gang is named Black Rose," he said.

"Oh," Peter said obligingly. "Why's the gang named Black Rose?"

"Because every rose has plenty of thorns," Pointy explained happily, as if Peter had thought the question up on his own. "And you know what every thorn has in common?"

"What?" Peter asked.

"They're all Pointy," Pointy stated. Then he laughed. "Geddit?" He said. "Because I'm Mr. Thorn, and I'm Pointy! Isn't that just great?"

"Mr. Thorn," one of the thugs said, coming in. "The Agents are coming, they've brought seven cars!"

"Seven?" Pointy said with a frown. "Is that all? Oh well, I suppose that's the point of a trap. Alright, Donny, keep Baby Girl. Al, you and Danny guard Junior. Also, Cy, Harry, and Tom, you three are with me. Everyone else, aim for the head and the heart. Come along, Junior, wouldn't want you to get caught in the cross fire."

With that, Pointy and his small group of thugs quickly led Peter and Marissa over to a small trap door in the corner of the building. As two of the thugs opened the door, Peter's gag was returned, and this time, Marissa was gagged as well. As the first sounds of shooting could be heard outside, Pointy laughed. "Boy, isn't this funny, Pete?" He said, leading the way into the cellar. "What a gag!"


	17. The (Not so) Legendary Battle of Gangs

Mike, Davy and Micky rode with Howie and Agent Cupcake in Howie's car, leading a procession of around ten cars, with five agents in each car. Mike asked why they were taking so many agents, and Howie explained that he wanted to be on the safe side.

"The last three times we've run into the Black Rose gang, it was a trap," he said. "We're treating this the same way."

They drove out of Kent and into a forest, driving for around 20 minutes before Agent Cupcake pulled over. "Alright," he said. "There's an abandoned lumbermill ten minutes drive from here. That's the only place they could be."

"Got it," Howie said. He undid his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, followed by the Monkees.

All the other cars had pulled over behind them, and one by one all the Agents stepped out of their cars and looked to Howie for instructions.

"Okay, agents," Howie said. "Thank you all for assembling here on such short notice. It makes me proud to call myself Mr. Best. Now then, here's what's gonna happen: the hostages are being held in an abandoned lumbermill down the road a bit. There's a secret road leading up behind it, three cars are going to drive up there and set up the first ambush. We're going to send a decoy, seven cars driven by seven Agents are going to head straight up and draw most of the fire, while the Black Rose is distracted by that, the agents from the first three cars are going to go in and locate the hostages, get them to safety. The rest of you are going to travel on foot, moving quickly, and you're going to be the last ambush. You're all equipped with tasers, so take out as many Black Rose scum as you can."

Agent Cupcake stepped forward then. "Alright," he said. "Here's how it's gonna be: Agent Pinecone, Agent Door Knob, Agent Grassbush, Agent Ceiling Fan, Agent Abel Skeavers, Agent Coffee Mug and Agent Ceramic Coffee Mug, you guys are the decoy drivers. Head on down five minutes after the first three cars take off."

"Yes sir," The seven Agents said, moving to get into some of the cars.

"Agent Coke, and Agent Bottle Cap, You guys are going to take your teams in two of the other cars," Agent Cupcake continued. "Agent Agent, you'll be riding with Mr. Best and the Monkees in the other car. All the rest of you, you're coming with me and Agent Psychedelic Llama to perform the final ambush. Look alive, people, we're moving out!"

The Monkees followed Howie to one of the cars while all the Agents moved to get ready.

"Alright," Howie said as they all climbed into the car. "Let's go rescue Peter!"

* * *

When they reached the lumbermill, they all quietly left the car. "Here," Agent Agent said, handing a pair of binoculars to Micky. "Try and climb this tree and see if you can get a read on the situation."

"Got it," Micky said, putting the binoculars around his neck. Without much effort, he climbed up to the top of the tree and using one hand to hold himself steady, he used the other to raise the binoculars and look through them.

"I see them," he said. "They're standing in the middle of the floor, Peter's hands are tied."

"Why do things like this always happen to us?" Mike wondered aloud.

"He's talking to someone," Micky continued. "I think it's Mr. Thorn... I can't see, there's a big thug standing right in the line of vision. Oh, wait, he's moving... GAH!"

"What, what is it, what's going on!?" Davy exclaimed.

"It's Pointy!" Micky said. "Pointy Q. Zimmerman! He's Mr. Thorn!"

"No way!" Mike exclaimed.

"Zimmerman?" Howie asked with a frown. "Isn't that the strange boy who runs into people?"

"Yes!" Mike said. "Apparently, he and Peter were friends in high school. He was there, at the fair yesterday. I'm betting that's how he knew to warn the Black Rose gang about Peter."

"I knew I didn't like that guy," Micky said, still up in the tree.

"Poor Peter," Davy noted. "I mean, they were friends. And now it turns out he's just been using him."

"I wanna punch that guy so hard," Micky said angrily.

"Micky, I need you to keep watching," Howie said. "The decoy cars will be here soon, you need to see if you can find out where they take Peter."

Micky returned his attention to the lumbermill without a word, and on the ground, Howie explained their plan to the Monkees and the Agents who were there. "Aright," he said. "When the Black Rose gang members go to shoot up the decoy cars, they'll leave Peter and Marissa mostly unattended. All you Agents will go in front, and take out as many left-over members as possible, your goal is to clear the way for us to get to Peter."

"Something's happening," Micky said. "They're all getting ready, Pointy got off his throne. They're leading Peter and Marissa somewhere, there's a group guarding them."

"How many?" Howie asked.

"Um..." Micky did a quick count. "Seven. Pointy's one of them. There's also that guy who knocked us out last night. They're leading him to a corner... there's a trap door. They're taking them underground!"

"This is it, men," Howie said. "Get ready, we'll wait three minutes for them to clear out of the mill, then we're heading in. Micky, come on down."

Micky climbed down from the tree while the agents all put away their squirt guns and got out their tasers. From the lumbermill, they could hear the sound of gunshots, and the squeal of tires.

"Don't worry," Howie said, noticing Davy look anxiously toward the sound. "The Agents I picked to drive the decoy cars are all professionals. There's nothing to worry about."

They waited for a few more minutes, and then Agent Agent gave a nod. They were off.

* * *

Pointy and three other thugs turned on flashlights as they descended into the cellar. Peter looked around, the entire place seemed to be a maze of crudely dug tunnels, and as if it weren't obvious enough, a large sign that said "MAZE" in large back letters hung on the wall next to the ladder.

Pointy led them through several different tunnels, turning left, right, another left, a few more rights...left... Peter tried to keep track, but soon found his mind drifting to other things.

What was happening in the mill above him? Down in the tunnels, they couldn't hear anything from above, but he could imagine well enough. Seven cars filled with agents who didn't fire guns and Monkees who didn't even have squirt guns with them, all driving into a trap while he was being led to what would probably be his death, in an underground cavern.

His thoughts were interrupted as the roof of the cavern started to shake, a small bit of dust drifting to the ground. Peter stopped and looked up. They must've been under the parking lot, maybe a car had driven overhead.

The thug behind him gave him a shove to get moving again, and his foot caught a root, sending him falling to the ground.

Pointy laughed as the thugs hauled Peter to his feet. "Nice trip, Peter?" He asked conversationally. Peter just shot him a dirty look as they kept moving, dodging more small showers of loose dirt along the way.

They finally reached a small room, and Peter was pushed into a sitting position against the wall.

"Tom, Harry, guard the door," Pointy said. "Donny, You go ahead and watch Baby Girl. Danny, Al and Cy, you guys all make sure Junior doesn't give us any trouble."

The boss set Marissa down and then sat down next to her, as the three thugs called Danny, Al and Cy all leaned against the wall, pointing their guns lazily at Peter.

Pointy sat down then, and pulled a few sheets of paper from his pocket. "I'm gonna go over some business while we wait," he said. "In about half an hour, we'll go back up and see how many Good Guys we bagged."

Peter closed his eyes. This was not good.

* * *

As Agent Agent led the groups into the main part of the lumbermill, they saw that most of the Black Rose members had indeed left, leaving only around fifteen guarding the main room. The Agents had the element of surprise, they managed to take out three before the alarm was raised and the other Black Rose members all began shooting at them.

Everyone dove for cover, and three of the Agents took fake guns out of their holsters. Filling them with powder, they raised them up and "shot" at the Black Rose members, who were also diving for cover.

"They think we have real guns," Howie explained in a whisper. Then he chuckled. "Isn't that great? We're outnumbered, they have the home field advantage, and none of us have guns! And they're hiding from us!"

"Hilarious," Mike deadpanned. "Your agents should cover us, or, you know, pretend to cover us, while we try to get to that big crate over there. We'll just go from crate to crate while we make our way to the trapdoor."

"You heard him," Howie said to the Agents. "Cover us."

The Agents began "shooting" again as Howie, Agent Agent, and the Monkees all ran for cover.

They continued to do this until they got close enough to the cellar to get in during the next exchange. The Agents fired again and they all made a mad dash for the trapdoor; luckily, the Agents kept firing, as Mike, Micky and Davy all got stuck trying to go in at once. Finally, they were able to drop to the floor below and Howie and Agent Agent followed them down into the maze.

"Hey, this is a maze," Micky noted, looking around.

"Nice observation," Davy quipped. "I had no idea."

"Oh, don't start," Mike said. "How're we gonna find Peter in this maze?"  
"Oh, that's easy," Micky said. "We'll just have to go on a romp."  
"Oh, that makes sense-hold it, hold it. Wait, stop, this is all wrong."

"What, did you notice something?" Howie asked.

"Yes I did," Mike said. "I noticed that we just had three sentences in a row start with 'Oh,' before the next part of the sentence. That's just bad writing."

"Well, what are we gonna do about it?" Davy asked.

"We'll just have to talk to the writer," Mike said. "Excuse me, PlushChrome? I don't mean to be a bother, but you see, you had three sentences start the same way, and, well, frankly, that's not very good writing. Can you fix that please?"  
REWIND  
"Hey, this is a maze," Micky noted, looking around.

"Nice observation," Davy quipped. "I had no idea."

"Now, don't you two start," Mike said. "How are we going to find Peter in this maze?"

"Oh, that'll be easy," Micky said. "We just have to go on a romp!"

"Well, that makes sense, I guess," Mike said. "Thanks, PlushChrome."

"I'll get us started," Micky said. Then, taking a deep breath, he began to sing. "Though you've played at love and lost, and sorrow's turned your heart to frost, I will melt your heart again..."

The others began harmonizing and before long, the music was coming through no discernible music source as the Monkees, Howie, and Agent Agent all went on this long adventure tracking Peter through the tunnels. This adventure, lasting exactly 2 minutes and 30 seconds, involved Davy in a Sherlock Holmes outfit using a magnifying glass on the floor while Micky pretended to be Watson, Mike examining footprints to try and determine which were Peter's and which were theirs, Micky dressed like an Indian Chief and checking the nearby plant life for signs of broken branches indicating someone passed by that way, and finally them stopping at an information booth for directions. At long last and songs end, they made their way into a rather small room with a dune buggy sitting in the middle of the floor.

"I think we made a wrong turn," Micky said, looking around at the room, obviously free from any gang members or hostages.

"I told you we should've turned left back at that fork in the tunnel," Davy said. "You were the one who insisted right was right, mr. Indian Chief."

"Wa ta tick it ta too too," Micky said absently. "Hey, look! A map!"

Pointing at the wall, they all saw a giant display map of the tunnels, with "YOU ARE HERE" written next to a red dot in one of the small rooms on the map.

"You are here," Mike read aloud.

"You know, I've always wondered why they feel they have to tell us that," Davy said. "I mean, it seems to me you should be able to figure out where you are. It's where you're trying to go that should be marked."

"Whoa, it's changed!" Micky exclaimed.

Looking at the map, Davy's eyes widened as he realized that a new red dot had appeared in a room right next to theirs, saying "YOU SHOULD BE HERE" right next to it.

"Would you look at that!" Mike said. "We should be there. Now, what's the quickest way through from here to there?"

"A straight line," Micky suggested.

"Now, Mick, don't be silly," Mike said. "Look at this map, there is no straight line from here to there."

"Yes there is," Davy said. "There's just a wall between us."

"Well then," Mike said. "If that's all."

Suddenly the roof began to shake a little, and some loose dust fell to the floor.

"The dune buggy!" Agent Agent exclaimed. "We can take the dune buggy and drive it through the wall! That should be fast enough."

"But what if we hit Peter?" Mike pointed out.

"Look, the map changed again," Howie pointed.

Looking at the map, Mike read aloud the new message. "Just drive through the wall already," he said. "Jeez, no need to get rude, PlushChrome, I'm just saying what you're writing me to say."

Without any further argument from the wise but stubborn Texan, they all climbed into the buggy and Mike started it up. "Alright," he said. "Everybody hold on tight. We're going through the wall."

* * *

It had only been ten minutes since they had gone through the trapdoor, but it had felt like a long while to Peter. Pointy had finished his business and had started a game of cards with Donny, Cy and Al, he'd figured that Peter wouldn't be able to do much bound and gagged, and he was right.

Not to mention, as soon as the adrenaline wore off, Peter realized he was very hungry and a bit tired as well. But he had to stay awake, and look for any opportunity to escape. If one ever decided to present itself.

Pointy put down his cards excitedly. "CRIBBITCH!" he shouted. "I win again!"

Peter sighed and Donny, Al and Cy all looked at each other. Pointy had won every match so far.

Pointy gathered all the cards and began to shuffle. "One more round," he said. "And-"

Suddenly there was a loud roar and a boom, and one of the walls caved in, filling the air with clouds of dirt.

Everyone yelled and covered their eyes, all coughing as they got dirt in their mouths and noses. All the Black Rose members who was sitting on the ground stumbled to their feet, drawing their guns.

"What's going on?" Donny managed between coughs.

The air cleared a bit and suddenly Mike was there, coughing himself as he climbed out of... was that a dune buggy?

He was followed by Micky, Davy, Howie and some other man Peter could only assume was an Agent. Howie and the Agent drew their squirt guns, and Pointy, Al, Cy, Tom, Harry, and Danny all drew theirs.

"Well-*coughcough*" Pointy started. "Ahem, so, *cough* Howie, you've come to get your *coughcough* hostages back."

"Yes, I *cough* have," Howie said. "And I'm gonna *coughcough* Get 'em, too."

"Wanna *cough* bet?" Pointy said. "We've got seven *cough* guns pointed at you. Haha. *cough* And you know what? I know your guns are fake! So Howie, _How're_ you gonna get *cough* your precious kids now?"

Howie, Agent Agent and the Monkees all gasped. "How'd you figure *cough* out about the guns!?" Davy demanded.

Pointy smiled. "Pete talks in his sleep," he said. "Who knew?"

They all gave a quick glance at Peter, who was just as stunned as they were. He'd given away their secret? Well, that was it. He'd sealed their fate. They were all going to die here in this cavern, and it was all his fault.

Pointy cocked his gun, still pointed at Howie. "Well, Mr. Best," he said. "It seems *cough* that the Good Guys Gang is closed down. For good."

Peter closed his eyes, he didn't want to see it happen. The sound from a single gun shot rang through the room, and echoed in his ears for an eternity.


	18. Like Glue

"Drop 'em," Marissa said, and everyone turned, stunned, to where she was holding a gun in her small hands, she had shot the gun straight out of Pointy's hand.

Pointy gaped. "Donny!" He said. "She has your gun!"

"I-I can see that, boss," Donny stuttered. "I saw it was missing when they crashed through the wall, but there was so much dirt I couldn't look for it, and-"

"SHUT UP!" Pointy yelled before having to cough again. "How on earth did she get it!?"

"You're stupid," Marissa told Pointy with a small giggle. "You gagged me up but you didn't tie my hands. Now." She cocked the gun again and aimed it straight at Pointy. "Everybody, drop 'em!"

They all hesitated.

"DROP THEM BEFORE SHE SHOOTS ME!" Pointy shouted. They all dropped their guns.

Howie smiled and stepped forward, taking the gun from Marissa and taking over keeping Pointy covered and cowed. "Nice shot, Mousie," he said. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

Marissa shrugged. "I watched a cowboy movie last week," she said. "It was easy to figure out."

Agent Agent began tying up the thugs one at a time as the Monkees ran over to untie Peter, talking over each other and asking all at once if he was hurt or not.

Once they got the gag off, he smiled. "I'm fine," he said as they helped him up. "I was more worried about you guys. Pointy said it was a trap."

"Yeah, well, Pointy didn't account for us knowing it was a trap and setting up a new trap ourselves," Micky said.

"Wait a minute," Peter said with a frown. "There were two traps?"

"Well, we knew it was a trap so we didn't fall for it," Howie explained. "If we hadn't known it was a trap, it would've been a trap. But we knew it was a trap, so it wasn't a trap."

"Oh," Peter said. "...What?"

"Never mind that," Mike said. "Are you sure you're fine?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah," He said. "I'm just tired."

"Right," Howie said. "Let's get out of here."

"What should we do with these scum, boss?" Agent Agent said, having finished tying up all the Black Rose members.

"Hmm..." Howie said. "Just a second." Turning to Marissa, he knelt down. "Marissa," he said. "This is very important, and I want you to answer me truthfully. Did anyone hurt you at all while you were with them?"

"Nope," Marissa said happily. "They gave me a room of my own and a nice bed and all the milk I wanted and Donny made sure I ate all my vegetables. Donny said I was too little to understand what was happening anyway. I let him think he was right."

Howie smiled. "Good," he said. "Did you glean any important information?"

Marissa nodded. "Donny has a sister up in Canada," she said. "And a niece. She's my age, and we look a lot alike."

"That's my girl," Howie said.

"What are you gonna do to my sister?" Donny said hoarsely, staring at Marissa in shock and dismay. "And my niece? Are you gonna hurt 'em?"

Howie stood back up and turned around. "No," he said. "You took care of Marissa, I'll do the same for your niece."

Donny let out a sigh of relief, and Howie continued.

"I could've been very angry," he said to the group of Black Rose members. "But as it is, you guys have nothing to worry about. Besides jail. For life."

"Well, Pointy might have something to worry about," Micky stated.

"What's that?" Peter asked.

"This," Micky said with a smile before turning around and hitting Pointy squarely in the jaw. Peter looked on, stunned, as Pointy fell to the ground with a yell.

"That's for kidnapping Peter and betraying his friendship," Micky said angrily. "And you call yourself a man. You're nothing more than a lying weasel. You oughta be ashamed of yourself!"

"You done?" Davy asked, watching in amusement.

"Yeah," Micky said dismissively, turning away. "Now let's get out of here."

"Agreed," Howie said, picking up Marissa. "Let's leave these jokers down here for the police to find. That map'll take care of it."

"You're just gonna leave us here?!" Pointy said fearfully. "Alone?!"

"Yep!" Agent Agent said. "There's barely enough room for all of us in the dune buggy as it is. We can't take you with us."

"Besides," Howie said. "You deserve it. You've had it in for my family since the moment we started up this gang. And even if Peter wasn't related to me, you still would've hurt him. That whole thing with Jumping Jack Jerry happened on your watch, after all."

Pointy groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted an information retrieval to that joker," He said.

"No kidding," Mike said. "He was a miserable gang boss."

"Yeah, he left us with Tony and Bruce," Davy said. "We barely had to convince them to untie us. They were dim."

"His moniker really wasn't all that threatening," Micky said. "It was almost as bad as Knotty Dean."

"Knotty Dean?" Pointy asked. "I didn't know he was stationed on that job."

Peter nodded. "He kidnapped us at gun point," He said.

"Well..." Pointy said. "That was knotty of him."

Everyone looked at him in contempt.

"What?" Pointy asked defensively. "These are the jokes, people."

"...Let's go," Agent Agent said.

So they all climbed into the dune buggy and drove back through the hole in the wall. Then, consulting the map on how to get back to the lumbermill, they drove off to see what had become of all the other Agents.

When they emerged from the trap door, they were met by Psychedelic Llama, who had a black eye, but seemed otherwise fine. "You found 'em," She said, smiling at Marissa in relief.

"Yes we did," Howie said. "How are things up here?"

"The situation has been stabilized," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "All Black Rose scum have been knocked out or otherwise detained. We have several wounded, but nothing serious. One of the seven decoy cars was shot up and wrecked, but the driver is fine. We've won the battle!"

"Forget the battle," Howie said. "We've got Mr. Thorn tied up in the cellar. We've won the war!"

Agent Psychedelic Llama smiled. "You mean," she said. "The Black Rose gang is out of business?"

"Indeed, it is!" Howie said. "Now then, do you happen to know the situation at my house?"

"I sent a security detail as soon as we finished up here," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "They should bring word as soon as possible."

"Excellent!" Howie said. "Let's get things here all wrapped up as soon as possible, I want to make sure Polly's okay."

"Yes sir," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "Now, if you'll all come with me, I want Agent Bobsled to have a look at those rope-burns on Peter's wrists."

They all looked down at Peter's wrists, and Mike whistled in awe. "Yeah," he said. "That has to sting. How come you didn't mention it?"

"I didn't notice," Peter said, and it was the truth. He'd been so caught up with everything else, that he hadn't even noticed the raw red skin caused by the ropes. He held his hands out and looked at them, then noticed that Mike was frowning down at them in confusion.

"Mike?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

Mike blinked a couple of times. "Nothing," he said. "Just... deja vu. Has this ever happened to you before, Peter?"

Peter thought. "No," he said. "I mean, We've all been tied up before, but I've never got rope burns."

"Huh..." Mike said. "Oh well. Let's go."

Agent Psychedelic Llama led them to one of the three cars, which had been set up as a temporary nurses station, Agent Bobsled was there tending to some of the minor injuries the Agents had sustained.

He was currently wrapping Agent Cupcake's arm in a bandage, and as the Monkees all walked up, Howie hissed in sympathy. "What happened?" He asked.

"Oh, it's just a flesh wound," Agent Cupcake replied. "Bullet grazed my arm. Not the worst I've got, believe me, boss."

"Aw, Sammy!" Marissa said sympathetically, running over and climbing on his lap. "I'm sorry you got hurt," she said.

"Don't worry about a thing, princess," Agent Cupcake said. "Old Uncle Sam's gonna be just fine. I was more worried about you! Are you alright?"

"Yep!" Marissa said with a smile. "I shot a gun straight out of Mr. Thorn's hand!"

"Wow, that's amazing!" Agent Cupcake said. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks," Marissa said with a laugh. "It was fun."

"Fun?" Peter asked. "You're only four years old! You should be playing with dolls, or blocks! Not shooting guns!"

"Relax, Petah," Marissa said with a smile. "I can play with dolls and blocks when work's over."

All the nearby Agents laughed, while Peter looked at the rest of the Monkees in dismay. Mike couldn't blame him, he was a bit put off by Marissa's apparent lethal playtime as well.

"Oh, that's too funny..." Howie said, taking a deep breath to steady his laughter. "...Alright. Well, the cops are probably on their way here, what with all the racket we made. I want the scene wiped clean and everyone dispersed in ten minutes. Clear out all the business fronts, and pack it up. We're moving headquarters down to Waterbury temporarily while we look for more permanent housing. And Agent Psychedelic Llama, take the boys and Marissa back to the house, the boys are leaving on the first train to Malibu."

"Thank you," Mike said. "I mean, I don't mean to be rude, but it's time we went home."

"It's nothing, Mike-and-Ike," Howie said. "I'm gonna be leaving too, for Waterbury. We can't stay here in Kent, not now that the police are gonna find Mr. Thorn. That rat'll squeal our family name for sure."

"Alright, boys, if you'll follow me," Agent Psychedelic Llama said. "We'll have you home in no time."

The boys all piled into the car, Davy riding shotgun while Micky and Mike sat in the back with Peter, who insisted on having a window seat. He held Marissa on his lap, and fell asleep before the car had even started. The others didn't disturb him, and the ride to the house was a quiet one.

When they got there, they had no choice but to wake Peter up, but he didn't mind. Polly was overjoyed to see them, and she hugged them both hard and cried for several minutes, while Mike, Micky and Davy went to the guest room to begin packing.

After a few moments, Peter came in and sat down on the edge of his bed with a sigh.

Mike, Micky and Davy all looked at each other before going over to the bed and settling down next to Peter, Mike and Micky on either side, Davy sitting on the floor in front of them.

"How ya doin', Shotgun?" Mike asked, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder.

"I'm fine," Peter said. "Just... how come bad stuff like this always happens to us? I swear, we're the unluckiest guys in the universe."

"Oh, not the universe," Mike deadpanned. "I'm sure there are plenty of really unlucky people out there, who could put our measly efforts to shame."

Peter chuckled, which was exactly what Mike had been going for. "The world, then," he said. "We've gotta be the unluckiest guys in the world."

"I hear ya there," Micky said with a dramatic sigh. "Seriously, this whole trip was a disaster from day one."

"It wasn't all bad," Peter said thoughtfully. "I mean, dinner after Marissa and Meg gave us all makeovers was fun."

Everyone chuckled at that thought.

"Yeah," Micky said. "And having coke and cookies at Joe's Diner, that was fun!"

"And the carnival was fun, even though it kinda ended on a bad note," Mike inputted thoughtfully.

"That gig we did in Hazard was pretty fun," Davy said. "And hey! When Micky found that note from Peter's teacher!"

"Oh, yeah," Mike said. "That was pretty funny."

"Oh, and we met Kate and Johnny, don't forget about them," Micky said.

"Who?" Mike asked in confusion.

"Oh, uh," Micky chuckled. "You know, just... some people we met on the train to Clarksville, while you were asleep."

"Oh," Mike said, but the looks on the other Monkees faces made him suspicious.

"Anyway," Davy said, changing the subject. "So we did have a lot of fun on this trip. It wasn't a total disaster!"

"You're right," Peter said. "It wasn't. I'm glad we came, I got to see mom and Howie again, I got to meet Marissa, and even though I don't like that Howie's a gang boss, at least now I know."

"That's the spirit, Pete," Micky said.

"And one more thing I know now for sure, even though I never doubted it for a second," Peter continued. "Is that no matter what happens, you guys'll always be there for me. That's what makes our friendship so strong. Even when it turns out my family is a national gang bent on ruling the country, you guys stick with me."

Mike chuckled. "Well, Shotgun," he said. "I guess you're stuck with us forever."

"Like glue," Micky said.

"No matter what happens, no matter who your family is, we'll always be best friends," Davy said eloquently.

"Like glue?" Peter asked, looking at Davy with a slight smirk in his eye.

Davy blinked. "...Alright," He said. "Like glue."

"Good," Peter said. "I love you guys too."

Mike, Micky and Davy all smiled, and then Mike stood up with a sigh.

"Well," He said. "We'd better get packing so we can skip town before the cops catch up."

The other Monkees stood up and looked at Mike, amused, while Mike sighed again. "Remind me to never say that again in my life."

"Hey Mike?" Micky asked.

Mike raised his eyebrows, knowing what he was about to walk into but deciding to do it anyway. "What is it, Micky?" He asked.

"Don't forget to never say that again in your life," Micky reminded him.

Peter and Davy laughed as Micky took a few bows in front of an imaginary audience, reminding them to tip their waitresses, and Mike turned away, allowing himself a half-smile in the corner of his mouth.

Ridiculous and dangerous road trip/gang war aside, they were safe. They were all safe, they were all together, they were all happy, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

As the Monkees waited for the train that would begin their hopefully uneventful trip home, Marissa sniffled and shed a few tears.

"Don't worry, Marissa," Peter said. "I'll come visit again one day."

"Promise?" the girl said with a pout, raising her arms to be picked up.

Peter smiled and lifted her up, giving her a tight hug. "Promise," he said. "It might not be soon, it might not be for a long time. But I promise, I'll see you again."

Marissa sighed. "Alright," She said finally. "But I'm gonna hold you to it."

Peter chuckled and then set her down, as Polly came over for a hug herself.

"I'm gonna miss you, Peter," She said. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," Peter promised.

Polly laughed. "I doubt it," she said, pulling out of the hug. Then she turned to the other Monkees. "Thanks for taking care of Peter all this time," she said. "I sleep a whole lot better now, knowing that he's with friends as good as you."

With that, she gave each of them another strangling hug, as Howie walked up from the ticket counter.

"Well, I arranged for you boys to have free fare home," he said. "Don't worry, not illegally," He amended, seeing the look on their faces. "I just, I paid for it in advance. And you should be safe the whole trip home, I own these railways. Nobody will bother you at all, for fear of the Good Guys Gang. And if you ever need a favor, you can always contact Agent Storm Cloud, he's my trusted subordinate in charge of the greater Los Angeles area."

"About that," Peter said. "...Howie, I can't join the gang. I'm sorry, I just can't make a life out of this. I have to do what's best for me, and this isn't it."

"Don't worry, Peg-leg-Pete," Howie said, smiling sheepishly. "I've learned my lesson. You're a musician, not a thief. I can't try and turn you into something you're not. Go live your life, Peter. You have my blessing."

Peter grinned. "Thank you," He said. "That means a lot to me."

"You made a horrible gang boss anyway," Howie joked. "It's just not in you to be one."

"I'm glad you finally see it like that," Mike said.

"No kidding," Micky said. "Imagine, Peter trying to be a gang boss."

Howie laughed. "Well, the world will have to live without Junior Best," He said. "It'll just have to be patient, my heir has some more growing up to do before she can begin the family business."

Everyone blinked.

"You mean... Marissa?" Peter asked in dismay.

"Yep," Howie said, as Marissa ran up and climbed into his arms.

"I'm gonna be a mobster when I grow up," she announced happily. "I'm gonna be Baby Girl Best!"

"Oh no," Peter moaned. "Even my baby sister!"

"Don't worry, Pete," Micky said, putting his hand on Peter's shoulder. "You've got years to try and talk her out of it."

Peter sighed. "I guess you're right," he said.

The train whistle blew, and it was time to leave. Peter said one last goodbye to his family, and they all climbed onto the train. They found a nice empty compartment to sit in, and the train pulled out of the station.

"Well, that was an adventure," Davy noted, earning a dry laugh from the others.

"You could say that again," Peter said, leaning against his seat. "I'm really happy I got to come out to Connecticut and see my family, and meet up with old friends, and see the place again, but I'm glad we're on our way home now."

"Speaking of home," Micky said, sitting up. "Let's all agree, we're never gonna contact Agent Storm Cloud. I don't ever want to get involved in this gang again!"

"This gang!?" Davy said. "Why not all gangs? I think we should all agree to never enter any gang, ever."

"Let's write this down," Mike said, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. "And sign it as an agreement."

"Good idea," Micky said. "Never join any gang, never contact Agent Storm Cloud, and, um... never play the duck pond?"

Mike thought on that. "Alright," he said. "I accept. Never play the duck pond. You never know which gang might be operating it."

"You should also add never take a night train," Peter said. "Because that's when the ghosts come out."

"Yeah," Davy said. "And let's never go back to Muskogee. That was complicated."

"Agreed," Mike said. "Never go back to Muskogee. I don't ever want to get mixed up with that brute Cal Sanders again."

"Anything else?" Micky asked as Mike finished writing it all down.

No one had any more suggestions, so they all signed their names on the paper, and Mike rolled it up and stuck it in his pocket.

They all leaned back against their seats and watched as the scenery went by.

"Hey," Micky said suddenly. "Let's end this story with a song."

"Now, that is a great idea," Mike said. "Good thing I brought my guitar as a carry on."

"I've got my banjo," Peter said with a smile.

"And I've got maracas," Davy said, reaching into his bag to pull his instruments out.

"Well, unfortunately, I didn't think I'd need my drums in the car," Micky said with a sigh. "But I've got my voice, so I'm game.

"What should we play?" Peter asked Mike, who was now absently picking at his guitar and looking absently out the window at the rolling scenery.

"I'm thinking... The Door into Summer," He said, and the other agreed that it was a good choice.

So they began to play, and Mike led them into the song.

"With his fool's gold stacked up all around him  
From a killing in the market on the war,  
The children left King Midas there, as they found him  
In his counting house where nothing counts but more.

And he thought he heard the echoes of a penny whistle band,  
And the laughter from a distant caravan,  
And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand  
Fading through the door into summer

With his travel logs of "maybe next year" places  
As a trade-in for a name upon the door."

Micky came in with a soft echo, "He threw it all away..."

"And he pays for every year he cannot buy back with his tears," Mike continued.  
"As he finds out there's been no one keeping score."

Then they all chimed in for the chorus again, singing in harmonies that were beautiful to hear.

"And he thought he heard the echoes of a penny whistle band,  
And the laughter from a distant caravan,  
And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand  
Fading through the door into summer!

Yes, he thought he heard the echoes of a penny whistle band,  
And the laughter from a distant caravan,  
And the brightly painted line of circus wagons in the sand  
Fading through the door into summer..."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ohmygosharooney, I'm so sorry! I can't believe how long it's been since I updated... and this is the last chapter too. I don't know how I got stuck so bad. But DON'T UNFOLLOW THIS FIC YET! I've got an epilogue coming in (hopefully) soon, followed by a list of the names of all Agents and Others and what those names mean to me.

Thank you to everybody who followed this story, thanks to Crystal Rose of Pollux for letting this fic be in her series, and thanks to Saiken2009 for being such an awesome friend. XD Most of all, thanks to Michael Nesmith, Peter Tork, Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones, respectively, for being the Monkees in the first place. Couldn't'a done it without you.


	19. Epilogue and Explanations

**THREE MONTHS LATER:**

The door opened and one by one, the Monkees ran through into the pitch black room, letting the door close behind them.

"I can't see!" Micky whispered loudly. "Guys, where are you!?"

"Just a second," Mike whispered. "I think I found the light-switch."

There was a small click, and the light illuminated the four boys, who immediately jumped and gasped upon seeing each other, having expected it to be someone else.

After catching their breath, they all stated, at the same time, "Don't do that!"

"Do you think they'll find us?" Davy asked anxiously.

"No, I think we're safe," Peter said, right before the door opened.

"AHA!" The man who was chasing them yelled, barreling into the room, followed by three goons with guns.

"What was that, Peter?" Micky asked pointedly.

"It was just a hunch," Peter admitted with a smile.

"Don't move!" The man said, as the Monkees all remembered that they were frightened and put their hands in the air. "You Monkees messed with the wrong gang boss!"

"Yeah, I thought we'd agreed not to do that," Mike noted.

"That's it!" Micky exclaimed, excited.

"What's it?" Davy asked irritably.

Micky didn't answer, instead, he half closed his eyes, smirked, and adopted a cool but dangerous manner, as he walked slowly over to the man and his goons. "Nah," He said. "You're the one who messed with the wrong gang boss, babe."

Mike nodded his head, now knowing what Micky was up to, and he nudged Davy and Peter to follow his lead as he moved to stand menacingly behind Micky.

"Oh yeah?" The man said with a smirk. "And who's you workin' for, then?"

Micky chuckled. "He wants to know who's we workin' for," He said, turning to Davy, who also gave a chuckle. Then Micky turned back to the man. "You been messin' with the Good Guys," He said.

The goons all gasped, and the leader frowned. "No," he said. "You guys are bluffin' that's what this is, a bluff."

"Maybe I should introduce myself," Micky said. "You're talking to Agent Magic Fingers, here."

One of the goons took a step back. "Agent," he said. "He said Agent!"

"I heard what he said," The boss said. "That don't mean nothin'!"

"Over here behind me," Micky said, ignoring the outburst. "Is Agent Wool Hat."

"Howdy," Mike said, nodding his head in greeting.

"He's a cowboy!" One of the goons said. "Did you hear how he said Howdy? He's from Texas, man, even the babies shoot down there!"

"Oh, don't be stupid," Mike said, looking down at the goon with contempt. "We don't start shootin' till we outta the cradle."

This served to frighten the goons a bit more, as Micky put his hand on Davy's shoulder. "This little man here is Agent Small Fry," He said.

"Now, he doesn't look too dangerous," One of the goons said, and they all relaxed a little.

"Neither does a ferret, but you wouldn't want one of_ them_ to bite you, would'ja?" Micky said.

"He... he bites?" The boss asked, glancing nervously at Davy, who reacted by rushing forward, snarling angrily.

"Whoa, hang on there, Agent" Mike said, pulling Davy back by his arm. "Save yer appetite for supper."

"...You're right," Davy said, smoothing out his shirt and sending a glare towards the goons. "You're right, Agent, although they look so... so... juicy, I just couldn't contain myself."

Mike had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the very idea of Davy wanting to taste anybody, but it seemed to have the desired affect on the goons.

"And..." The boss said tentatively. "Who's Blondie?"

"Blondie, as you so eloquently put it," Micky said. "Is none other than Junior Best."

The goons all gasped.

"Lie," The boss said, looking smug that he had figured something out. "He ain't Junior Best!"

"Am so," Peter said with a scowl. "I sent Jumping Jack Jerry packing to the police, along with all of his goons. I stole the Renaldi Ruby and than framed Tasha Forge for it, sending her to jail screaming for revenge. I shut down the Duck Pond operation and imprisoned three mobsters without breaking a sweat, and I brought about the downfall of the Black Rose Gang, and the imprisonment of Mr. Thorn himself!"

At this point, the goons were wimpering, and the boss himself looked severely shaken as the Monkees all nodded their agreement with Peter.

"O-okay," the boss said. "So you're J-junior Best. So what're you gonna do about it?"

Peter took a deep breath, and hoped hard that the gang secret had remained secret as he quickly stuck his hand into his coat pocket and formed his fingers into the shape of a gun. Raising his hand up, he pointed the "gun" at the group of cowering thugs, and the goons all let out a high-pitched squeak before bolting from the room.

The gang boss also stumbled back a few steps, hand over his heart.

"B-but, I thought you'd retired," He questioned in fear.

Peter frowned. "I'm on vacation," he said. "Do you _want_ me to come back in to work?"

This was enough to send the gang boss running, and as he ran, Peter smirked. Having an infamous criminal boss in the family wasn't all bad, he decided. It definitely had its perks.

* * *

Author's note: Most Agents in this story were named after items on the headboard over my bed, while some real names were chosen because they were important for some strange reason. Here's a list!

Agent Pink Rock: I collect rocks, and there is a hunk of Rose Quartz on my headboard.

Agent Storm Cloud: I have a Stormtrooper action figure perched on one of the rocks on my headboard. His name is Bill. However, since the Agent couldn't be named Storm Trooper, I looked out the window and saw... Storm Clouds.

Agent Cupcake (Sammy): I had a half-eaten cupcake that I placed temporarily on my headboard as I typed. Besides, Agent Cupcake? Ha.

Knotty Dean (Reginald Dean): Knotty so I could use a pun later, Reginald Dean off of Reginald Barclay in Star Trek: Next Gen, who was played by one of my favorite actors, Dwight Schultz.

Jerome Jerome (Jumping-Jack Jerry): In a rap song in an old album of a group of 80's Christian Rappers, a choir-teacher states "Oh, Jerooome, Jerooome, you have a solo after each verse." And Jumping-Jack Jerry because, that's not scary. At all.

Tony Riker: Tony is such a stereotypical mobster name, that I wrote it down without even thinking. Riker in keeping with the Star Trek theme, naming him after William Riker.

Bruce Crusher: I wrote Bruce after Tony without thinking, deciding that the names sounded right together. Several paragraphs later, I remembered that I've been writing Avengers stories. With Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. So the names sounded right. Crusher in keeping with the Star Trek theme.

Agent Pepper Spray: Several years ago, in a fit of paranoia, I whipped up a batch of homemade pepper spray. The result is still sitting on my headboard, waiting for the first creeper to try and kill me in my sleep.

Agent Red Gloves: It gets cold here in the winter. I own red gloves. They were on my headboard. Questions?

Agent Watermelon: A photograph sits in its frame on my heaadboard; of a picture of me several 4th of July's ago, I am wearing a blue shirt, eating a slice of watermelon, and smirking up at the camera with one eyebrow raised, as if I am saying "You thought you could get a bad pic of me mid-bite, eh? Too bad! I always look good for a camera."

Agent Bow Tie: A special guest star, this British bow-tie wearing temporary recruit is helping Agent Cupcake with some unexplained mystery haunting a train car. Important? Wait till my next story to find out.

Agent Ginger: Recruited along with Agent Bow-Tie, Agent Ginger is a bit of an enigma, having no speaking lines. She is, however, not one to be trifled with.

Agent Red Cross: We learned from the story that Agent Red Cross is not a Doctor, he is a nurse. And he, along with Agent Bow-Tie and Agent Ginger, is not from Malibu.

Kate (Katie the Killer) Harper: Katie the Killer because I needed something menacing. Kate because I love that name. Harper because in the old movie Arsenic and old Lace, Mortimer Brewster marries Elaine Harper, and Cary Grant was sort of my inspiration for Johnny Brewster, as was the actress who played Elaine for Kate.

Agent Elderberry (Johnny Brewster): Johnny because why not? And Brewster for the reason mentioned above. Agent Elderberry because the Aunts in Arsenic and Old Lace did their dirty work by poisoning Elderberry wine.

The unnamed Agents: Stevie Garcia and Clint: Stevie after Steve Rogers, in keeping with my unintentional Avengers theme, Garcia because I needed a last name. Clint after Clint Barton, again, Avengers theme.

Eric J. Wetherringtonsonheimer: Eric because the Phantom of the Opera's real name was Eric, and because the Phantom says "Bravo, Brava, Bravissima," in the Gerard Butler version of the film. Wetherringtonsonheimer because what? J. for effect.

Joe Bosco: Joe because that name always seems so friendly to me. Joe. I feel like he's just some smiley diner owner who is optomistic and befriends all the customers who enter his restaurant. :) Bosco after BA Baracas, whose first name was Bosco.

Dylan Bolinski: Originally a throwaway name, I wanted something Italian, I dunno why.

Pollyanna Bessetti: Pollyanna, as already stated in the story itself, was the commercial I was watching the first time I heard a snippet of a Monkees song. Besides, I just love the name Polly. I named my laptop Polly.

Howard Bessetti: Because I was playing a PC game called Virtual Family, in which you take care of a family of virtual people. I had named my girl Polly, as she looked like someone who could be Peter's mother. Then she married someone who looked like a Howie to me, so I named him Howie. They ended up having several kids, two of which were named Peter and Marissa. Bessetti because it sounds a bit like Best, and I found that ironic.

Marissa Bessetti: Really had no reason for this name, I just needed a name for his sister, and that popped into my head.

Pointdexter Quebec Zimmerman: Really long story. Originally, I came up with the name because I wanted to write a sbemail to Strong Bad, but I couldn't think of a good topic. Then I was going to use the name as a nom de plume for a book I was writing, called 101 Stupid Things People Do. That didn't quite pan out, so the project was dropped. I might pick it back up one day, but for now... Pointy Q. lives as Mr. Thorn!

Tasha Forge: Tasha after Natasha Romanoff, in keeping with my Avengers theme. Forge after Geordi La Forge, in keeping with my Star Trek theme.

Agent Psychedelic Llama: Another long story. Pretty much, I was at the fair with my fam, and I saw a painting of a llama with Beatles hair, standing in front of a rainbow sheen background. I said "That is one Psychedelic Llama." And my sister looked up at it and said. "Whoa... that IS one Psychedelic Llama." And then one by one, the rest of my family came over and commented on the Psychedelic Llama.

Agent Silver Spoon: I had just eaten a pudding cup. There was a spoon on my headboard.

Agent Zipper: My great-grandmother left the family some jewelry, and I picked out a pair of earrings that were little gold-colored zippers. They're cute. They were on my headboard before I cleaned my room and put them in my jewelry case where they belong.

Agent Flashlight: On my headboard. For times when I wake up hungry in the middle of the night and need to navigate my way through the dark house.

Agent Black key: A broken necklace that comprised of a black skeleton key with a heart-shaped head, lined with Rhinestones. Quick note: the Agent Rhinestone introduced in my next story is also named after this key.

Agent Green Lamp: How else do you think I type at night, without a desklamp on my headboard? It also wears a fedora, just to let you know.

Thomas "Chainman" Harrison: I really don't remember the significance of this... just that it was a pun of sorts. If I ever remember I'll come back and edit this.

Cedric "Tooth-Champ" Pots Cedric because Robert Pattenson is Edward. Pots because of Harry potter. Tooth-Champ because Edward's a vampire and Cedric was a champ. FOR THE RECORD I HATE TWILIGHT.

James "Jamie" Jameson: Because... James... Jamie... Jameson.

Agent Bobsled: I have a picture frame on my headboard that is a sculpted map of a theme park I went to, and part of that is a bobsled. Now if only I had a picture to go in the frame...

Agent Pinecone: Because I was running out of ideas and my sister had a pinecone on her headboard.

Agent Doorknob: the closet in my room has no doorknob, just a hole. So... name?

Agent Grassbush: I had left my room at this point, and in the living room is a shelf with a fake plastic bush on it, that looks like grass.

Agent Ceiling Fan: There is also a ceiling fan in the living room.

Agent Abel Skeavers: Because I'll bet none of you know what abel skeavers are.

Agent Coffee Mug: I had an old empty coffee mug on my headboard.

Agent Ceramic Coffee Mug: Not exactly a mug, this was named after my ceramic goblet that looks like Darth Vader.

Agent Coke: Suggested by a friend of mine.

Agent Bottle Cap: Also suggested by that friend of mine.

Agent Agent: Suggested by the aforementioned friend of mine. :)

And that is all! If there were characters in the fic that didn't appear on this list, it's because they had throwaway names and weren't important enough to make the list. XD


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